


Outside Influences

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Crossovers: starsky_hutch, Drama, M/M, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-12
Updated: 1999-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 100,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's disappearance leads to some important revelations, and as Jim and Blair are drawn into the search for a serial killer, expert consultants from a West Coast task force on serial killers are brought to Cascade to assist.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into ten parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are not familiar with "Starsky & Hutch", it is best described by actor David Soul, who portrayed Hutch in the original series: "It's a love story between two men who happen to be cops." The series ran from 1975-1979 on ABC-TV. It is currently being re-run (on a somewhat irregular schedule) on TNT. David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson were two city detectives who worked as partners for the fictitious Bay City PD, spending their days on the streets of what looked suspiciously like L.A. and various other southern California locales. :-) The highlight of the show was the unwavering loyality and devotion between the two partners, which can be interpreted as a magnificent friendship--or one of the great love stories in TV history. I prefer the latter interpretation, myself. ;-)
> 
> The following story places Starsky and Hutch at the ages they would be today, as it takes place in the present time. I am ignoring the "Night Shift" - "Sentinel Too" storyline for this, and assuming things were left intact as they were at the end of "Neighborhood Watch". 
> 
> The song Hutch sings in this story is "After All These Years". It was written by David Grow, performed by Anne Cochran, and appears on Jim Brickman's "Visions of Love" CD. 
> 
> Acknowledgement: Thank you to Virginia Call, my best buddy and beta reader. :-)

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Author's disclaimer: This is a work of fiction produced solely for the entertainment of fans. All characters having appeared in the UPN Series, "The Sentinel", belong to UPN and/or Pet Fly productions. The original characters belong to the author.

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part one  
by Candy Apple 

Two weeks. Two weeks since he'd heard Blair's voice, his laugh...seen his face light up with that endearing enthusiasm. Jim walked into the small bedroom off the kitchen and let the sights and scents of Blair surround him. Blair's books piled up on the foot of his very lived-in futon bed, the varied array of souvenirs from the anthropologist's journeys, the plaid shirt tossed over the back of the chair... How could anyone vanish so completely and suddenly from a place? //And here I am, Jim Ellison, hot shot cop, and I can't find him. Two weeks he's been gone...I swore I could track his heartbeat for miles, that I'd pick up his scent...that I would somehow _know_ where he was and that I'd rescue him. So where is he now?// 

Jim picked up the book that lay open on the bed. He smiled when he saw that it was written in a language he didn't even recognize. Tucked inside of it, a bit closer to the front, was a page of hastily scribbled notes, obviously Blair's attempt to translate part of it.

//Oh, God, Chief, I let you down so badly. It was my responsibility to keep you safe. I should have known better than to bring a peace-loving grad student anthropologist into a world of guns and criminals and violence. I was just using you when all this started. When I first started experiencing everything with enhanced senses, I was desperate. It was like my own body and mind were turning on me, and you understood what was happening and knew how to deal with it. So I brought you into my life and dragged you out into the field among flying bullets and violence and ugliness... You gave me my life back, and what have I given you now? Beyond that, not having you here has left a...a cavern in my chest where my heart used to be. You filled this place with life...with warmth... I keep telling myself I'd know if you were dead, but how? How would I know? Maybe the best I can hope for now is to find you and give you the burial you deserve...//

Jim dropped onto the bed, and sat there with the little sheet of paper in his hands. Blair's writing...the same writing that had been on the note Blair left on the table the day he disappeared. He was supposed to be home by eleven that night. Only he never came home, and two days later, his car had been found abandoned on a country road leading out of Cascade. 

Every day since then, Jim had followed every lead personally, had scoured the area near the spot where the car was abandoned...he'd been so completely obsessed with the case that he had to be shoved out the door of the PD to go home and shower and change before he "turned rancid" as Simon had so gently pointed out.

Jim tucked the little slip of paper back in place and set the book aside. He walked over to the dresser, and a note there caught his eye. It was a reminder note Blair had written to himself: "Pick up suit". He ran his fingers lightly over the note. It was Jim's suit Blair was going to pick up at the cleaners. Just one of dozens of thoughtful little things Blair did for him as a matter of routine. Even though the fall semester was starting up, Blair's schedule was a bit more flexible than Jim's, so the younger man had offered to swing by the cleaners and pick up the suit. Just like he often did the grocery shopping or the laundry or cooked many nights when it wasn't really his turn, or sat with that intense look on his face and hung on Jim's every word--whether it was to help him with his senses or just listen to him bitch about something at work that was driving him nuts. Sharing his loft apartment with Blair had made his life richer than he could ever have hoped. And now, in a heartbeat, it had all been ripped away.

Looking up to catch sight of his own reflection in the mirror, Jim was a little startled himself. He looked haggard and scruffy. His blue irises were floating in a sea of sickly pink. No wonder Simon had sent him home. //Home? It was home when Blair was here...now it's just a damned empty shell full of memories that I can't stand to face...even his scent is fading from his clothes, from the bed, from the things he touched and used. The bathroom never smells like his shampoo or his faint aftershave or...or just _him_. I have all the fucking hot water I could ever hope for now...//

He leaned on the desk with both hands and let the tears flow. They had gnawed at him since the night after Blair disappeared, and now they couldn't be denied, because he felt so damned hopeless. Two weeks ago, he'd had hope. He'd been confident he could find his guide. What good were these wretched sentinel abilities if he couldn't save the one person who meant the most? He'd been determined to move heaven and earth, but he'd find Sandburg. Now the prospects of finding anything but his body were looking slim. //What would anyone do with him for two whole weeks and keep him alive?// The images brought to life by that mental question were almost worse than the images of finding his battered body in a ditch somewhere.

"I'm so sorry, Blair. I'd give anything I had to find you. I just don't know where to look anymore," Jim said to the empty room. His eyes fell on a picture, and his heart twisted in a tighter knot. The night of the Officer of the Year dinner and award presentation, he and Blair had posed with the plaque. Blair had been much more excited about Jim's honor than Jim had been himself. He let his memory drift back to that night...

"This is a _major_ honor, man. Aren't you a little excited?" Blair had enthused as soon as Jim returned from shaking hands with the mayor and making a very characteristically short speech. Big blue eyes wide with excitement of the moment, Blair had been all smiles. 

A photographer from the local newspaper had come over to get a picture of Jim with his award, having gotten a shot of him with the mayor during the presentation. When Blair obligingly stepped out of the way, Jim glanced over at that excited expression and the virtual _bounce_ in Blair's stance. He reached over and pulled Blair by the arm back into the shot, and left his arm around the younger man, instructing him to hold one side of the plaque while Jim held the other.

"He helped me earn this, so I want him in the shot," Jim had explained abruptly. When the guy had aimed his camera, Jim was stealing a look at Blair, and smiling affectionately at the happy, but visibly moved, expression on the younger man's face. It was that "throwaway" shot that was in the frame here. That wonderful moment that had passed between them, the moment that said all the words Blair would finally ask Simon to hear many months later. The reassurance that he was needed and appreciated and wanted.

The photographer had captured a more appropriate shot right after that one, but this was the photo that Blair wanted, and that was framed in a little gold frame on his dresser. 

"I never said anything to you, Chief. I never said thank you...I never said...I never said I love you, but I do. God, I do, so much that it's tearing my guts out. I don't know when my whole world started revolving around you, but maybe when I realized that yours always has revolved around me. First because I was your thesis on feet...but then, it was more. You weren't obligated to always put me first, but you always did. No one..." Jim trailed off, his voice breaking. He looked at the wide blue eyes lit up with happiness in the photo, the long chestnut curls restrained in an appropriately neat pony tail for the formal occasion. Where Blair was small but sturdy, with that mass of long hair and that ready smile, Jim was the typical ex-military type--tall, muscular, reserved. He'd worn his hair in a brush cut for a long time, but now it had grown out a bit longer, and he wondered how much of that was Blair's influence. So much of what he did and felt and thought now were tinged by Blair's influence. "In my whole life, no one ever put me first. How do I do this without you? How do I pack up your things and re-do your room and forget you ever came into my life? Dear God, Blair, how am I gonna make it here without you?" Jim shouted at the smiling Blair that was frozen in time in the photo. "Shit, you're not even 30 years old, Chief," he choked out to the picture. "Your whole life is yet to be lived. This can't be happening. Not like this. God, you deserve so much more."

He took the plaid shirt off the chair and took it upstairs with him. The fatigue of the last two weeks was catching up to him, and in a spirit of complete hopelessness, he pulled his two-days' stale clothes off and crawled into bed with Blair's shirt. He lay there and let his eyes drift shut, taking in the last traces of Blair's scent. Exhaustion finally overcame him, and he slept.

* * *

The jangling ring of the phone made Jim jerk bolt upright in bed. Blair's shirt was still bunched up next to him in the sheets, the warmth of his own body having brought his partner's fading scent into sharper focus. He reached for the cell phone on the night stand and answered it.

"Jim, Simon. We might have something." Jim's captain's deep voice was somber. 

"What?" Jim demanded, dread seeping into every cell of his body. //Dear God, not a body...//

"We just raided a crack house on Jackson Avenue, and we found a necklace. It's a leather cord with a couple beads on it--it looks like the one Sandburg was wearing when he disappeared."

"I'm on my way. What's the address?" Jim was on his feet and digging for clothes in the drawer as Simon spoke.

"1478 Jackson. The lab boys have been over everything, but I thought--"

"I'll meet you there." Jim hung up the phone and finished dressing hastily in jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater. As he raced downstairs, Blair's shirt stayed nestled in the bedclothes.

* * *

The raided crack house was nothing remarkable. It was an old white frame two-story with a couple of boarded up windows and some graffiti on the side of it. Most of the police vehicles had left the scene already, and the suspects who had been found there were probably cooling their heels downtown. They would be Jim's next stop. And he wouldn't relent until he'd gotten some answers out of them. No matter what he had to do to get them.

As soon as Jim walked through the front door of the house, through the noises of final evidence gathering and the voices of the forensics team, Jim froze, transfixed at the sound of a heartbeat he knew better than his own.

"Jim!" Captain Simon Banks was descending the stairs, carrying the small plastic bag with the necklace in it. The little parcel seemed positively tiny compared to the 6'4", impressive African-American man who carried it in one large, long-fingered hand.

"He's here!" Jim exclaimed, moving farther into the house, trying to filter out anything and everything but the sound of Blair's heartbeat. It was a bit rapid, but it sounded strong.

"What?" Simon grimaced in confusion. "Jim, we've been through every part of this house--"

"Then we're going to have to go through it again. He's here. I hear him."

"You _hear_ him?" Even though Simon knew Jim was operating with heightened senses, this was a bit much for him to believe. The house had already been searched from top to bottom.

"I hear his heartbeat."

"Jim, there are several guys still here from the lab, and Megan is upstairs--"

"I'd know Blair's heartbeat anywhere, sir. That's him." Jim concentrated on the sound a moment, then moved past the staircase, down a hall and into a cramped, stuffy kitchen which reeked of the odors of drug preparation. "This way," Jim directed Simon, who followed him as he started down a narrow staircase to the basement. 

"We've been over every inch--"

"I haven't," Jim stated simply. 

And he proceeded to do precisely that. After walking through the entire basement, he finally isolated the area where the sound was strongest and Blair's scent joined it. Standing in the middle of a storage area which held only mounds of rifled boxes the cops on the scene had already searched, Jim honestly wasn't sure how to proceed. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if his own sanity had given way, and he was hearing Blair's heartbeat where it simply couldn't be...maybe he'd always hear it as a haunting reminder of his failure...

"There's got to be a room or some kind of enclosure hidden here somewhere."

"Jim, he's not down here. We've been over every inch and--"

"Then we're going to have to get pick axes and start chopping through the walls because I know he's here!" Jim shouted back angrily. He began flinging the cartons in all directions, following the sound single-mindedly. If Simon said or did anything else, Jim didn't notice. He didn't slow down until the storage room was cleared. He found himself faced with a bare cement floor and painted brick walls.

Ignoring Simon's negative assessments of the situation, he began running his hand along the wall, searching for any microscopic irregularity. 

"Sandburg!" he shouted at the wall, slapping against the painted surface with the palm of his hand. "Shit. There's gotta be a way in here."

"Into what? The wall?"

"I _hear_ him, Simon. I _know_ he's in there." Jim stood back from the wall a moment, frustrated. Then he strode out of the storage room and stood in front of the doorway to it. He scanned the wall near the door, then began running his hand along the painted bricks there. He found himself face to face with the furnace soon. He frowned at the device, then turned back to Simon. "There's no heat in this place."

"I noticed that. Maybe that thing doesn't work."

"Of course it doesn't. Take a look at this." Jim pointed to the pipe that led out of the top of the furnace into the ceiling. "For God's sake, Simon, it isn't even connected." He started scanning the room. "Over there. See that pipe that comes down from the ceiling?" 

"Looks like part two of this one," Simon commented, glancing from the pipe at the top of the furnace to the pipe coming down from the basement ceiling where Jim stood.

"The furnace should be right over there." Jim moved over to the area under the pipe. "Didn't anyone find it a little odd that there was all this dirt and these markings on the floor? This is where the furnace is supposed to be sitting."

"They probably figured the one over here was a new one and that's where the old one was."

"Give me a hand here." Jim moved over to start pulling on the furnace unit. It was obviously newer than the house, being small enough that two men could pull it away from the wall, but large enough to make them work hard to do it.

When the machine was out of the way, Jim lurched forward toward the door that had been concealed by the phony furnace set up. The wood door gave way easily on the second slam of Jim's considerable force against it.

"Kill that light!" Jim ordered, and Simon moved quickly to pull the cord on the bulb in the ceiling, obviously willing to follow the directive, even if he didn't understand why Jim had demanded darkness.

The huddled figure in the corner of the small, windowless room didn't move except to lurch at the sudden explosion of noise and to hide his head in the corner where the walls met to avoid the flood of yellow light from the bulb in the adjacent room.

"Blair, it's Jim. It's okay, Chief." Jim crouched by his huddled friend, unnerved by Blair's unwillingness to move. "The light's turned off, buddy. Come on, you can look at me. It's okay." He laid a hand on Blair's shoulder, but the younger man jerked at the touch. "Shhh. It's okay. Come on, Chief. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." 

"Is he all right?" Simon asked, moving into the doorway of the room. "I can't see a damn thing."

"I can," Jim stated simply. "His vitals sound okay. He's probably a little disoriented." Jim found that Blair's wrists were handcuffed behind his back, his ankles bound, though fairly loosely, with rope. He was dressed the blue plaid shirt Jim recalled him wearing the day he disappeared, which hung loose over what were probably the same jeans.

"He's probably been in here a while," Simon commented, and Jim glanced back to notice a brief look of revulsion pass over the captain's features. Jim hadn't even noticed the unpleasant odor of Blair's prolonged confinement. Even now that he had, it didn't seem to matter.

Jim tried his key, and to his disappointment, it didn't fit the cuffs.

"Don't be afraid of us, Chief. We're the good guys, remember?" Jim said softly to his partner, whose entire body was shaking as he pressed as far into the corner as he could. "I need something to pick this lock--anything long and thin."

"I'll see what I can find. Hang on." Simon fumbled his way through the darkened part of the basement until he reached light, and then discovered an old workbench in the corner of the room closest to the steps. Rifling through the web-covered jars and containers, he finally located a couple different nails.

"Blair, it's okay. It's me," Jim said, keeping up his litany of reassurances. He untied Blair's ankles and focused his eyesight on the wrists that were stuck to the cuffs with dried blood. "Listen, Chief, I want to get those cuffs off you without tearing your skin anymore. Be patient, buddy. I know they hurt." Jim reached up and stroked the matted hair gently. "It's all over now. I'm right here."

"Jim?" The voice was little more than a croak from a parched throat.

"That's me, partner. How about taking a look for yourself, huh?" Jim smiled a little. "Bet you can see almost as well in here as I can right now," he commented, still stroking Blair's hair, since it seemed to be the thing that was calming him.

"Hurts."

"What does? Your wrists?"

"Everything's...all cramped up."

"Don't worry, Chief. We'll get you out of here. I can carry you out if your legs can't make it."

"Jim?" Simon's voice came from behind him. "I found a few nails on a workbench."

"Great. Does that sink work?"

"The one in the other room? I don't know."

"Would you get me a couple cloths soaked with warm water? His wrists bled and the cuffs are stuck."

"Shit." Simon left the room without any more eloquent comment.

"Please...I wanna go home," Blair managed.

"Soon, buddy. We need to get you to the hospital--"

"Please...home," Blair repeated, trying vainly to swallow non-existent moisture. "I...I smell bad."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. It's dialed down." Jim started working on the lock to the cuffs with one of the nails, and before long, the lock popped. Jim avoided moving the metal away from Blair's skin until Simon returned with a bowl of warm water, a couple of washcloths and a flashlight, the beam of which he dimmed with the coverage of one large hand as he got near the spot where Jim was crouched on the floor with Blair.

"How's he doing?"

"Better now," Blair croaked out himself.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, kid," Simon responded, laughing a little, but wincing as he watched Jim gently soaking the dried blood until it was safe to remove one, then the other of the handcuffs. It wasn't until he tried moving his arms that Blair let out a whimper of pain.

"It's okay, Chief. Don't try to move everything at once."

"I...can't," Blair groaned.

"Okay. Let's see if we can make the move upstairs. I'm going to do all the work, Blair. All you have to do is turn your face in toward me and close your eyes tight. The light's going to hurt your eyes at first, so let's just keep 'em protected until we can get you used to it gradually, okay?"

"I can't move too well."

"I know. It'll get better, buddy." Jim pulled out his handkerchief and gently wrapped one of the still damp wrists. Simon wordlessly offered his own for the second one. Jim turned Blair slowly so he was sitting with his legs straight out in front of him and then carefully moved the stiff arms until they were also in front of Blair, resting in his lap. With one fluid hoist, Jim lifted his partner into his arms and shifted the Blair's position until he could hide his face against Jim's coat. "Okay, keep your eyes covered, Chief. I'll give you a yell when it's safe, okay?"

"Okay."

"Simon, are we clear to have a few minutes in the kitchen upstairs?"

"The lab's pretty much finished."

"I don't think we need an audience right now," Jim stated, thinking of how he would feel to be pulled out in Blair's condition and then gawked at by several strangers.

"I'll go on up ahead." 

Jim spent the next several minutes gradually reintroducing Blair to a little bit of dim light in the kitchen, and pacing him through drinking some water slowly enough to avoid getting nauseous. While Simon directed a few of the remaining forensics people to go downstairs to the room where Blair had been found, Jim sat in a chair next to the one his ragged partner occupied and reached over to rub the other man's back gently. He froze when Blair flinched.

"What is it, Blair?"

"I...I've got a few...bruises." His voice sounded more normal now that a little water was soaking into the parched dryness. It still seemed odd to see Blair with the beginnings of a mustache and beard. "Please can we go home?"

"You're dehydrated, partner. You should be--"

"You'd know if something was wrong. Please...I want to go home."

"How long were you in there?"

"What day is it?" Blair responded, pausing to take another drink of water as his own hand was closed around the glass, and his arm moved slowly, with Jim's help, up to his mouth.

"Getting a little movement back there, Chief?" Blair nodded after finishing the drink, and with Jim cautiously loosening his hold, Blair could manage most of the downward motion on his own. "It's Thursday." That seemed to make Blair really concentrate a moment. 

"Just two days," he responded, a little stunned.

" _Just_ two days?" Jim worked hard to swallow his rage. If it had only been two days, Blair was probably somewhat dehydrated, hungry as hell, stiff and weak, but it was doubtful his condition was dangerous. "Probably felt like forever, huh?"

"Please can we go home?"

"Blair, you have to level with me. I'd spend more time asking this gently if I could, but if you want to go home tonight and put off seeing a doctor until morning, I have to be sure we aren't going to be losing vital evidence." Jim paused. "Chief...was there any...other kind of assault I need to know about?"

"I wasn't raped or anything. Just slapped around a little, and...I got a pretty good beating for almost getting away when we first got here."

"When did the beating happen?"

"The day I got put in the room."

"What can you tell me about the kidnappers?"

"Not much. There were three guys, all pretty built, and they wore ski masks the whole time they were around me. I mean the _whole_ time. When they moved me from the house we were in first, they put me in the trunk. If I had to guess, I'd say they were white males, like, my age or older. I can't be sure on the ages though."

"What kind of car was it?"

"A big blue one...probably about 20 years old. I think it was a Buick...maybe an Electra or something."

"Okay, pal. That's enough Q &A for tonight." Jim supported Blair's increasingly mobile arm for another drink of water. "Wait here a second, huh?" Blair nodded, but Jim detected the spike in his pulse and heart rate as he rose to leave Blair alone. "The place is crawling with cops outside, and I'll be right in the next room. If you so much as burp, I'll hear you."

"I'll be okay," Blair responded, managing a little smile.

Jim made his way to the living room, where Simon was concluding the night's business with the lab team. 

"I'm going to take Blair home. I've got a preliminary story on the suspects and the car--"

"What about having him examined at the hospital?"

"He's assured me that there wasn't any sexual assault, and I can bag his clothes myself in case Forensics wants to have a look at them. I think he needs a hot bath and some food and liquids and a little peace for a few hours."

"What've you got on the kidnappers?" Simon took out his notepad. "I'll type up a preliminary report tonight while you take care of the kid."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim repeated what Blair had told him, and after Simon had taken it down, he thanked the captain again and returned to the kitchen to collect his partner.

"Jim...I--I could probably clean up here if there's a bathroom or something. I-I'm sorry... Your sense of smell must be driving you crazy."

"You haven't got anything on you I haven't smelled before, Chief. Don't worry about it." Jim squatted in front of the chair and started massaging one of Blair's legs. "How're they doing?"

"Needles and pins like crazy, but it's getting better."

"Want to try standing? It'll get the circulation going a little faster." Jim worked on the second leg a few moments.

"I guess." Blair slid his arm around Jim's neck as a strong arm came around his waist and hoisted him onto his feet. "Geez."

"Just stand there a minute."

"I can't make them move!"

"It's okay pal. You can feel them, right?"

"Yeah, but still--"

"Your legs can fall asleep when you sit in a certain spot too long. Yours are sleeping real deeply, that's all. I'll give you a lift to the truck, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. And please stop apologizing, Chief. None of this is your fault." After taking off his coat and insisting that Blair put it on, Jim hoisted the other man into his arms again and made his way a bit awkwardly out the side door, which opened onto the driveway. He moved as swiftly as his armload allowed, relieved beyond words when he finally had Blair loaded into the truck.

The drive home was mostly made in silence, with Blair dozing in the passenger seat, clutching Jim's coat tightly around himself.

By the time they arrived home, Blair wanted to try his own legs as transportation indoors, and was pleasantly surprised to feel that, with a steadying arm from Jim, he could walk mostly on his own. As soon as they were inside the door of the loft, Blair froze in his tracks.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim was locking the door behind them and tossing his keys in the basket.

"I never thought I'd ever see this place again," Blair responded in a strained whisper. "I thought I was gonna die in there."

Jim could see Blair working to hold back tears. He closed the distance between them with a couple of long strides and pulled Blair gently into his arms, still mindful of the bruises he hadn't yet seen. Blair's arms came around his middle gratefully, and Jim felt the shaky intake of breath.

"Let it out, buddy. I've got you now. You're home." Jim stroked the tangled curls gently as the tears began to flow. "I missed you so much," Jim murmured as he held Blair close. 

"You too," Blair replied, still crying. "I wanted you to come and get me, but I didn't...I didn't know how you could ever...find me."

"Thank God I did. Simon found your necklace upstairs and called me--that's how I got called to the scene. But as soon as I walked in the front door, I heard your heartbeat."

"From all the way upstairs?"

"Yup," Jim responded, smiling at the little flicker of intrigue in Blair's voice at having found yet another dimension to Jim's sentinel abilities and their application to police work. "I think I'd hear it across town if I had to." Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of Blair in his arms. Safe, alive and home again. "I love you, Chief," he said softly, and to his surprise, effortlessly. It flowed off his tongue easily. The arms around him tightened almost painfully.

"Love you too."

"Come on. Let's get you washed up, huh?"

"Yeah...good idea." Blair sniffled a little and pulled back.

"A shave might be a good idea too, huh?" He smiled down at Blair and led him to the bathroom with an arm still around the younger man's back.

"I must look really weird."

"You want to see for yourself?" Jim asked, smiling as he turned on the light in the bathroom. Surprisingly, Blair turned away from the mirror.

"No. Please, just...help me look like I'm s'posed to?"

"You got it, Chief." Jim guided him to sit on the closed toilet seat and gathered the shaving supplies. Dispensing with the unwanted facial hair didn't take very long, as Jim carefully ran the razor through the shaving cream and removed all traces of it. 

"No cuts," Blair said, smiling a little as Jim dispensed with the towel and the shaver, and proceeded to gently wash off Blair's face before adding a little of the lightly scented after shave balm Blair usually used. "At least part of me smells decent."

"The rest of you's going to smell a whole lot better in a few minutes," Jim responded, starting the water in the tub, gauging the temperature until it suited him. He plugged the drain and let the water level start rising. "Is this the stuff that's supposed to get rid of the aches and pains?" Jim asked, finding a bottle of bath oil on the shelf.

"Yeah."

"Okay." He shot a little into the water and then turned back to Blair. "Time to lose the clothes, partner." Jim offered Blair a hand to help him stand, but left the younger man to peeling off his own clothes. He seemed to prefer doing it himself, and since he'd been moving around, the discomfort in his limbs was reduced to stiffness and some mild pain. His mobility was essentially back, even if he wasn't moving fast.

"I can take it from here," Blair said, his tone completely unconvincing.

"You're a little stiff in the legs yet, Chief. I don't want you to slip in the tub." Jim turned off the water and turned back to face the naked man next to him. His breath caught in his throat at the ugly purple splotches on Blair's stomach and sides. "Let..." Jim swallowed to get the words out. "Let me see your back, buddy." Blair looked at him a moment, as if contemplating not complying, then turned around. "What was it? A belt?" Jim asked softly, feeling tears burning his eyes at the angry red marks and the discoloration of bruising that lay beneath them. In two days, it hadn't faded anymore than this.

"Yeah," Blair answered quietly. Jim let his hands rest on the smaller man's shoulders.

"We're going to nail those bastards, Blair. And when we do, I swear to God, they're going to get a taste of their own medicine."

"They beat me up for trying to get away--they didn't even bother with my face--just my body. I guess they wanted to do maximum damage for their efforts. Then...one of the guys got the idea to use his belt."

"Come on, pal. Into the tub." Jim gently guided Blair down into the warm water that was scented with the herbal bath oil.

"I can--"

"Just relax, Chief. Let me do the work, huh?" Jim smiled a little as he lathered up a large bath sponge and started on Blair's arm.

"Jim?"

"What?" He worked on the other arm now, then re-soaped the sponge to clean under Blair's arms and across the soft mat of hair on his chest.

"Thanks for finding me."

"No--thank _you_ for finding _me_." Jim kept washing, and Blair looked puzzled. "Three years ago when you decided to steal Dr. McCay's lab coat, remember?" Jim smiled as Blair's face split into one of its trademark brilliant smiles, all gums and teeth. Unable to resist the impulse, Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead. 

"It's really good to be home," Blair said in a slightly strained voice, still smiling. "It's kinda funny but...I don't think anyone ever _missed_ me before."

"Oh, come on, Chief," Jim replied, laughing a little as he soaped up and washed Blair's body with all the gentleness he would use to wash a baby. "Naomi misses you all the time, I'm sure."

"Then why don't I see her more than once or twice a year, if that? Jim, nobody ever...missed me before. Loved me, sure, but everyone else--my mom included--have no problems with living without me."

"I have major problems with it, so keep that in mind." Jim swallowed hard as he looked at the abused back again. "I'll try not to hurt you, buddy."

"You never do." Blair caught Jim's hand and held onto it.

"I wish that were true," Jim responded, squeezing the hand a little and then moving on to wash Blair's back.

"Not on purpose."

"No, not on purpose, Chief."

"That's what counts."

"Did these jerks ever tell you _why_ they grabbed you?"

"No. I asked. All the time. They just kept waving a gun in my face and telling me to shut up. The one guy..." Blair shivered. "The one guy had a...a knife, and he...he told me not to open my mouth again or he...was going to cut my tongue out. I never said _anything_ after that. I know he would've done it. He was so crazy, Jim."

"When did he threaten you with that?" Jim asked gently.

"The second day. We started out being in this one house, but I don't know where it was, because I was taken there in the trunk. It was out in the country somewhere--a ranch style house that was in really bad shape--it had white siding, but there were places where the siding had come off, and it was really old aluminum siding. And weeds everywhere. Inside, there was nothing much but basic stuff. A couple old beds and a table and chairs."

"So at least you had a place to sleep."

"I slept on the floor...when I slept, which wasn't very often. Especially...not after what the guy with the knife said. I spent most of the time on the floor, usually tied up. Sometimes they let me go to the bathroom because they didn't want me stinking in the corner."

Jim had finished the bathing project by now, and picked up the hand held shower massager to start on Blair's hair. Cradling the younger man's head with his free hand, he encouraged him to tilt it back as he turned on the spray and soaked the matted curls.

"I can do that. It's gonna be really gross. I never got a chance to wash my hair."

"Shh. Just relax. I'll take care of it, Chief." Jim finished soaking the hair and grabbed a towel to soak up some of the water from running down Blair's forehead into his eyes. Then he started shampooing. "Did they ever talk in front of you--about anything worthwhile?"

"They mumbled a lot. Mostly they talked in the eating area, which was right off the kitchen. I could see them, but I was far enough away that when they kept their voices down, I couldn't hear them. Oh, God, that feels good," Blair sighed, seeming to revel in the feeling of having his scalp washed thoroughly.

"What made them move?"

"One guy got a call on his cell phone, and after that, they dragged me outside and shoved me in the trunk again and we left. It was like for those first eleven days--I counted--we were just hanging out there. Waiting for something. They didn't really _abuse_ me at all during that time--just the threats. They always got enough take out food for me to eat when they did. I mean, I had a gun on me the whole time I ate, but when you get hungry enough, you'll eat under any conditions I guess. But they didn't drug me or beat me up or even pay a hell of a lot of attention to me most of the time. It wasn't until I got away from them at the second house and got about two houses down the street that they beat me up. I knew there were a lot of abandoned houses on Jackson, but I recognized it because one of my students lives on the corner of Jackson and Warren, and I knew there were inhabited houses and apartments not far from there. They had handcuffed my wrists but not tied my ankles yet."

"You're going to have to teach me how to do all that detangling stuff," Jim said, wrapping the freshly washed hair in a big, fluffy towel.

"I can--"

"You can't hold your arms up that long just yet, Chief."

"Thanks."

"Ready to get dried off?"

"Yeah. I think I'm turning into a prune in here."

After getting Blair out of the tub and helping him dry off, Jim retrieved clean sweats and socks from Blair's room and returned to the bathroom with them so Blair could get dressed in the warm room instead of getting chilled.

"I turned the heat up, so it should be pretty warm in the kitchen by now. Why don't you sit at the table and I'll bring the hair concoctions out there?"

"Okay." Blair started for the door and swayed a little, but was caught before he could flounder very long. "I feel light-headed."

"No food does that to a person. You want to eat before we fix your hair?"

"No. I'll never get a comb through it later."

Jim worked diligently on the hair project, much slower at it than Blair would have been. He used his heightened sense of touch to find any of the knots or tangles, and disengaged them carefully. Within a relatively brief time, Blair had a head of clean, dry hair that looked and felt like it usually did.

Taking on the ugly task of disinfecting and wrapping Blair's wrists wasn't Jim's favorite thing in the world, but it had to happen sooner or later. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Blair pain, which cleaning the damage left by the handcuffs would definitely do, but there was no way he wanted to risk infection either. He did the task as quickly and gently as possible, and bandaged the wrists with gauze--a bit more sterile than his and Simon's handkerchiefs.

With his partner clean, warm and comfortable, Jim prepared them a shared meal of canned clam chowder and sandwiches made from the chicken dinner he hadn't even touched the night before. Bringing home take-outs had been a useless idea at the time, since he'd had little appetite, but they were serving their purpose now. He set the food, along with more water, on the table and joined Blair.

"Eat slowly. Don't make yourself sick."

"Slowly?" Blair said, incredulous, as he grabbed a sandwich and bit into it as if he'd never eaten in his life before. Through a mouthful, he responded, "You gotta be kidding me."

"It was worth mentioning, anyway," Jim replied, laughing a little. 

Blair devoured dinner, and Jim didn't ask him any more questions while he did. After their meal, Blair curled up on the couch under the throw while Jim found an old movie on the late show. It was near midnight, but Jim wasn't concerned because he felt confident that Simon would grant him some time off to take care of his partner. And whether Blair knew it or not, Jim already had a large part of his statement, which he could type up and print off for Blair's signature. He figured the more traumatic portion of the ordeal would trickle out as Blair felt ready to tell it.

"Jim?" Blair's voice stopped him as he headed for the other couch to sit down.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Uh, would you sit here? By me?" The question came out in a voice barely above a whisper, and Blair looked mortified the moment he'd finished asking.

"Sure. Better view of the TV from here anyway," Jim replied easily, plunking down in the middle cushion next to Blair.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the movie. It was a fairly watchable story with Humphrey Bogart and George Raft as two struggling truckers. Before long, Jim felt a warm pressure on his shoulder. When he looked down, he saw that Blair had dozed off and his head had slumped on Jim's shoulder, either by accident or design. Jim didn't move the sleeping man for several more minutes, hoping he would be sleeping deeply enough to be moved to his bed without waking totally. 

On the next commercial break, Jim carefully slid his arms under the sleeping man and lifted him. Blair groaned and shifted a little, almost throwing Jim off balance. The position, unfortunately, was putting some pressure on Blair's sore back, and Jim figured that was more a reason for him to be disturbed than just the movement. He made the move to Blair's bed as swiftly and gently as he could, relieved he'd had the foresight to turn back the bed earlier. Laying Blair carefully in it was much less of a chore with the bedding in the right position. As soon as he was in bed, Blair groaned and shifted onto his side, but he still slept.

"Jim." More a sigh than a word, it was the last movement out of the exhausted man as he settled for the night.

Jim brought the blankets up and tucked them protectively around the body curled up in the bed. He caressed a couple of curls that rested on the pillow behind Blair's head.

"Sleep well, Chief," he whispered, more to himself than Blair. He found himself at a loss to describe the feelings that had invaded his heart over the last two weeks, and that seemed to be running rampant now that Blair was safe and sound where he belonged. 

The long-haired, neo-hippie witch doctor punk had somehow become the other half of his soul.

* * *

Sleep was reluctant to give up its hold on Jim as he was reveling in the first peaceful slumber of the last two weeks. Still, he forced his eyes open and immediately realized that it was Blair's voice that had wakened him. Jumping out of bed and rushing downstairs, he raced to Blair's room. The younger man was sitting up in bed, his heart thundering and his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"No, please! I'm sorry! I won't make anymore noise! Please don't!"

"Blair, it's me, it's Jim. Come on, Chief. Everything's okay now." Jim turned on the lamp near the bed and waited until Blair's glassy eyes finally focused on him.

"It was dark... I thought... I can't _stand_ it dark!" Blair shouted, a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks.

"You've had enough dark for quite a while, haven't you, buddy?" Jim sat on the edge of Blair's bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about the dark when I went upstairs." He reached over and caressed a damp cheek, brushing the tears there away with his thumb. "Come here." Jim opened his arms and encouraged Blair over to him. He held the smaller body close, sliding a hand into Blair's hair to press his partner's head firmly against Jim's shoulder. "Bad dream?"

"I was afraid to go to sleep...when I was there...because...that guy told me...if I made another sound..."

"And you thought you might make some noise in your sleep, huh?" Blair nodded against Jim's shoulder. "Is that who you thought I was when I came in?"

"I knew I yelled...I wasn't sure where I was."

"The dream was about the guy with the knife, huh?" Jim felt Blair's arms tighten around him. "He gave you a pretty bad time, didn't he? More than once."

"Quite a lot," Blair responded, his heartbeat slowing a little now as his breathing became less ragged. "When he got bored...he'd...bug me. He kept talking about other people he had...cut up, and how would I like to end up like them."

"He can't get at you, Blair. Not ever again. You know that, right?"

"Yeah...but he's still out there. Nobody's caught him yet. I don't want to be this...scared. But I...I can't help it."

"I know, Chief. It's okay to be scared." Jim sat there quietly, holding Blair close, just letting him calm down and relax. "I'm going to turn on the light in the kitchen--this one is kind of bright. But that'll keep the room--"

"Please...don't...leave me alone."

"I wasn't going to, pal. I just want to change the lighting arrangement. Sit tight for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," Blair responded, reluctantly letting go of Jim while he went out to the kitchen, turned on the light and poured a glass of water for Blair. He returned to the bedroom and handed Blair the water. Then he flipped off the bedside lamp. The kitchen light still spilled a friendly yellow glow through the open French doors.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Look, Jim, I'm really sorry about making a scene before. I'll be okay with the light."

"Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over," Jim repeated patiently. Blair did so, totally puzzled and more than a little surprised when Jim fit himself into the vacated space. "Are you comfortable on your side?"

"Yeah." Blair turned on his side, and Jim spooned up behind him, bringing the blankets up high around both of them. 

"Try to get some sleep, Chief. Remember you're safe."

"Jim, you don't have to--"

"Shhh. Go to sleep, guppy. You're home now. Everything's okay."

Jim's words and the gentle tone behind them seemed to drain the last of the tension out of Blair as he melted against the bed and into the safe haven of Jim's embrace. Before long, both men were sleeping peacefully.

* * *

Blair stirred, momentarily startled to hear a grumble of protest from behind him as the warm body against his back moved a bit, then re-settled for more sleep. It was daylight, but he had no idea what time. He took a moment to assess that he was clean, dry, fed and safe before closing his eyes again and relaxing.

He felt a rush of love in his heart for the loving care he'd gotten from Jim the night before. Not just because it was such a drastic contrast from the abuse and deprivation of the last two weeks, but because of how truly loved and protected and cared for he'd felt when he needed that feeling so badly. He cringed a little at the thought of the smells that Jim had put up with in caring for him. He hadn't been allowed to bathe or wash his hair the entire time he was gone, and in the final day of his captivity in the horrible cave in which he was meant to die, his body had finally relieved itself against his wishes in the absence of any facilities.

Jim hadn't flinched away from any of that. If his sense of smell was on overload, he didn't show it in his face nor did he hand Blair off to some long-suffering nurse to hose him down. He probably could have been dumped in the hospital for observation overnight, but Jim had collected him like he was a rare, long-lost treasure, and brought him home.

The pain of the beating had faded a lot, and it seemed much more bearable now that he was clean and warm and comfortable. The memory of the utter darkness of his last two days of confinement still raised goose bumps on his flesh. He wondered when he could ever endure the dark again without panicking. //If I were in Jim's arms, I wouldn't panic.// Blair pushed the thought away. //This is a one-time thing, Sandburg. He felt sorry for you. Tomorrow night, you'll be on your own.//

"Blair." Jim mumbled the name, and it took Blair a minute to realize that Jim was still sleeping. He felt the larger man's face nuzzling against his hair, the arm around his waist pulling him a bit closer. 

"I'm here, Jim," Blair barely breathed, knowing the sentinel ears would pick it up. The larger man settled again, his breathing still even and deep.

//Could he love me as much a I love him? He said he loved me. And it was a really serious, special 'I love you'. Not a punch on the arm and an 'I love you, man', or some equally hideous mutation of what I want to hear. It was the real thing. And he kissed my forehead...and held me, and comforted me. And _missed_ me. When I was gone, he wanted me here.// Blair thought back over his life, the people he'd loved or just the people he'd stayed with in various places. A few people had loved him, most notably his mother, many had liked him, but when he finally packed off and went on his way, he knew in his heart that damn few of them _missed_ him. In fact, he was trying to think of even one person who fell into that category.

People he'd stayed with while on expeditions viewed the whole thing as temporary. Even the one or two indigenous young women he'd fallen for along the way. If they'd missed him at all, it had been briefly, because it was all only temporary from the start. His relatives were a mixed bag. Those he'd visited who were glad to see him enjoyed the visit but went back to their normal lives as soon as he was gone. Relatives who owed Naomi a favor were more than delighted to pack him off back home when their babysitting task was ended. 

Naomi herself had the best times of her life without her son. When she traveled and went to exotic places or experienced some spiritual awakening, it was on her own. Could he seriously convince himself that she was spending much of that time _missing him_? She loved him and was happy to see him when they had a visit, but she didn't make a lot of time for that either. 

"I can almost hear the gears grinding from here," a sleepy voice said from behind. 

"What?"

"I know you're awake, Chief. I can almost hear your brain working. Anything you want to talk about?" Surprisingly, Jim was still holding him while they talked.

"I was thinking about my mom."

"You want to call her today?"

"No."

"Not near a phone, huh?"

"Yeah, she is. I'll probably get a hold of her in a few days. I was just thinking about...a bunch of stuff."

"How're you feeling this morning?"

"A little sore yet. Real tired." Blair smiled. "Extremely hungry."

"I'll fix us a big breakfast while you rest a while, huh?"

"Jim...thanks for everything...last night."

"No thanks necessary, Chief."

"You could have shoved me into the emergency room and been done with me for the night. And Simon had to be pissed that I wasn't giving a statement."

"You weren't in any shape to make statements last night. Besides, I can type most of what you've told me into the computer, then we can fill in the gaps together and you can sign it. We'll head downtown after we eat. Plus, I have to take you to the doctor--for the record." Jim paused a few beats. "Why would you think I'd shove you into the emergency room to be done with you?"

"I was half in the bag and I stunk, and that's what procedure dictated."

"Yeah, well, procedure isn't everything." Jim started to shift to get out of bed, but stopped when Blair grabbed his arm.

"Thanks for staying with me last night."

"No problem, Chief. I was so wiped out I could have crashed anywhere and passed out." Jim finished getting up and tucked the blankets back around Blair. "Rest while I make breakfast. I'll bring it in to you."

"You don't have--"

"I know I don't _have_ to do anything. Just relax." Jim patted a blanketed shoulder and made his way first to the bathroom, then, grabbing his robe off the back of the door, went to the kitchen to make breakfast. 

Continued in part [two](outsideinfluences1.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from one. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part two  
by Candy Apple

The trip to the doctor's office was fairly brief and reasonably painless, except for the man's insistence on checking Blair's bruised midsection for internal injuries. Blair knew perfectly well Jim had done the same thing infinitely more gently both in the bathtub and when he was helping Blair dry off. With apologies for having to do it at all, Jim snapped a couple quick photos of Blair's back and the bruising on his stomach and sides to go in the case file.

They arrived at the PD near one in the afternoon, where Blair was greeted enthusiastically by a few of their friends in the bullpen. Simon was, of course, the first person they talked to. The captain was assuaged by the fact that Blair's signed statement was forthcoming within minutes, and he was glad to see the younger man looking much like his old self, if still a bit tired.

"Sandy?" Detective Megan Conner spotted the prodigal police observer/consultant as she came through the door with a stack of files under one arm. Obviously, news of Blair's arrival hadn't reached her yet. Blair stood up to greet her and was hugged enthusiastically by the attractive young woman. "How are you?" she asked seriously, keeping a hand on either side of Blair's face and looking straight into his eyes.

"A little shaky, but I'm okay," he answered honestly. "I'm just glad to be home." 

"I bet you are." She turned to Jim. "Do we have anything on the bastards yet?" She sat on the edge of the desk as Blair resumed his seat next to Jim, behind it.

"Well, the big news is that it doesn't look like any of the jerks who were arrested at the house knew anything about Sandburg being in the house. Plus, they were too damned stoned to have successfully kidnapped anybody." Jim let out a long breath. "The perps we _are_ looking for wore ski masks," Jim explained, typing up the last of what Blair had told him over the course of the previous night, complete with the "gaps" Blair had filled in that morning. "So a visual ID is going to be tough. I think we could probably get a strong voice ID on at least one of them--right, Chief?"

"Yeah, the jerk with the knife."

"Unfortunately, none of the junkies in the holding cells downstairs came close."

"Motive?"

"Zip at the moment," Jim responded, entering a print command and getting up to go get the finished product.

"When did it happen?" she asked Blair. 

"I was late coming out of the library, and the parking lot was pretty desolate. I often am hanging out there after hours, so I didn't worry about it too much--"

"You're going to have to get used to changing that habit, Sandburg," Jim interjected as he returned to his seat and scanned the printed sheets for typos or other inconsistencies.

"I was parked pretty far out, since the lot had been almost full when I got there in the afternoon, so I ended up hiking out to the far side of it. All of a sudden things went dark and I was getting dragged off somewhere. They put something over my head and a gun in my back, and they shoved me in the trunk. I didn't see anything until we got to the house, and it was dawn."

"So it took that long to get to the house?" Megan clarified as Jim slid the statement in front of Blair. The younger man scanned it briefly, then signed it. 

"We covered all that in his statement, Conner," Jim responded, not wanting to run Blair through the paces of questioning a second time."

"I haven't had the opportunity to read that little epic you just printed off. I thought perhaps I could get the short-hand version."

"It's okay, Jim. I don't mind," Blair spoke up. "It was almost two in the morning when I was going to my car--"

"And of course using the cell phone never crossed your mind," Jim grumbled. Now that Blair was safe and sound, Jim was beginning to stew about the fact there had been no "sorry, I'll be late" phone call. 

"I thought you were on a stakeout."

"I was, but I was home by midnight."

"I didn't know that."

"You could have left a message on the machine."

"Jim, if you weren't there to hear it, it would have been a little pointless. I was supervising a study group, and we got off on some tangents. The librarian let me keep the keys and lock up--oh, shit. I've gotta call Rainier and tell them I have the keys!"

"They know. I was out there about six hours after you were grabbed."

"Striking fear into the hearts of hapless administrators everywhere," Megan added, smiling a little. Blair had to chuckle at the accurate assessment of Jim on a mission.

"This isn't a joke, Conner. Blair was nearly killed."

"Oh, come on, lighten up, Jim. She was just kidding. A little levity isn't a bad idea right now," Blair stated, still smiling a little.

"The humor escapes me on this one. If you'll excuse me, I have to get a copy of this to Simon." Jim snatched the signed statement and strode purposefully toward the copier.

"I _was_ just kidding, Sandy. I hope I didn't upset you."

"No, not at all. I mean, I'm not taking this lightly, but laughing about it a little helps."

"He really did move heaven and earth trying to find you. He worked nearly around the clock. I think the only sleep he got was when he would occasionally slump over his desk by about three in the morning." Megan watched Jim enter Simon's office and close the door. "I really wasn't trying to make fun of him for that. I quite admired his determination. And his devotion," she added softly.

"Jim and I are a team. Partners. We stick together."

"It's more than that. I think you know that. He loves you very much."

"I love him too. He's my best friend in the world. Best one I've ever had in my life. More like family." Blair snorted a little laugh. "Not that I have a real stable track record with them either."

"Toward the end, I was getting a bit worried about him."

"He's probably just worn out. I don't think he'll be angry when he's had a little more sleep and some time to cool down."

"I hope not. Well, I better be going." Megan's smile turned decidedly predatory. "Stakeout tonight." She opened her long top coat to reveal a short, slinky red dress.

"Whoa!" Blair sat back in his chair as Megan laughed a little and closed her coat. "Should I ask _what_ you're staking out dressed like _that_? And are they seriously expecting the rest of the team to be watching the bad guys? Because I can guarantee you their binoculars won't be focusing there."

"Sandy! You _are_ a wicked one." She cuffed the back of his head lightly as she headed toward the door. "The Seagull Club," she stated, pausing in the doorway. "I just need to get picked up by the right man."

"I think you'll have your choice," Blair replied. "Man, I gotta talk to Jim about the stakeouts _we_ get. Sitting in old trucks with faulty alternators and no heat dressed in sixteen layers of clothes drinking stale coffee."

"I guess there are one or two perks to being Major Crimes' token female detective," she quipped, waving as she turned and strode down the hall toward the elevator.

"Conner leave?" Jim asked as he returned to his seat.

"She had to get ready for a stakeout. You came down a little hard on her before, Jim. She was just joking."

"Forgive me if I don't find a lot of humor in you almost dying in the basement of a crack house."

"She wasn't making light of the situation, just--"

"Chief, look, I'm not interested in a lecture. Let's just drop it," Jim snapped. After a pause of silence, he looked over at Blair. "I'm sorry. I..." Jim shrugged.

"You're tired, man. You're entitled to be a little grouchy."

"Yeah, it's been a long couple of weeks."

"Oh, man!"

"What?" Jim frowned as he turned toward Blair.

"I just remembered--I'm supposed to be teaching a class in an hour!"

"Blair, calm down. I talked to your department chair the day after you disappeared. I actually talked to just about anyone I could get a hold of for the investigation, but I kept him informed so he could get subs for everything. Oh, and I got a hold of your student worker--what's her name again? Jenny? She was going to make sure your study groups knew what was going on, and she also got a list to the department chair of the stuff that was 'in progress' in terms of grading papers and exams. So everything should be running smoothly."

"You did all that?"

"I knew it would drive you nuts if everything wasn't covered."

"Thanks. I really appreciate you covering the bases for me like that. I mean, just telling the University is kind of a given because I was snatched out of their parking lot. But you didn't have to call Jenny and take care of everything."

"Why not? You'd do it for me."

"Well, yeah, but..." Blair shrugged. "Thanks." Blair nodded toward the signed statement Jim was adding to the file on his case. "Simon was satisfied with that?"

"Yes. We should be--" Jim was cut off by Simon's bellow from his office door.

"Ellison, Sandburg, my office." 

"Maybe not," Jim amended, rising from his chair and heading for the office, with Blair close on his heels.

"Close the door," Simon instructed as they both entered the room. "I just got an e-mail from," Simon leaned back to look at his computer screen, "Detective David Starsky of the Bay City PD--they're near the L.A. area. He and his partner were responsible for bringing a serial killer named Slater in the first time. The detailed stories Sandburg quoted that the sicko with the knife told him?"

"Yeah?" Jim prodded.

"They are exact parallels to the murders committed by one Wesley Slater. He was cooling his heels at the state hospital after being convicted of nine counts of murder one."

"Was?" Blair asked, already dreading what he was about to hear.

"Slater escaped custody about six weeks before Blair was abducted. He murdered a ward clerk in the process. They're faxing his records over to us now."

"Oh, man." Blair dropped into a chair. Jim had never actually seen all the color "drain" out of someone's face before.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Simon asked as Jim sat down in the chair next to his partner, every sense tuned in to the younger man's vital signs.

"Yeah, I guess. I just...I knew he was nuts, but...now I know he would have done everything he threatened to do. I kind of thought he would, but I didn't know. And I didn't know those murders were real. I thought he was just trying to freak me out."

"We can't be sure this is the same guy, but the timetable works, and the descriptions of the homicides fit exactly. I'd say the chances are about 100 to 1 it's him."

"I'm okay," Blair said finally. He knew that Jim knew that was a lie, that Blair's heartbeat was rapid, his pulse racing and his nerves, shot. But there was nothing Jim could do about it, and Jim's tendency to hover seemed to be making Simon uneasy and a bit annoyed.

"I can assign this case to someone else, but under the circumstances, I thought you'd want it."

"If this Slater jerk is behind grabbing Blair, I want him."

"Jim, this isn't a vigilante vendetta."

"I realize that, sir. I hadn't planned to make it one."

"I have to be sure you aren't going to take this case as an opportunity for revenge. As much as I sympathize with the concept of wanting to nail the bastard for personal reasons, this has to stay professional, or I'll be pulling you off the case anyway."

"It'll be professional. Let's just say I'm exceptionally motivated on this one."

"That I can deal with." Simon paused as Rhonda, his secretary, knocked and then poked her head in the door. 

"Your fax is here from the Bay City PD."

"Thank you, Rhonda," Simon replied as she handed him the stack of papers and smiled at Jim and Blair as she retreated back out the door. Simon stood up and walked over to the conference table, motioning to the other two men to join him there. "We can't ID his face, but how about build? Says here he was 6'2", 190 pounds."

"That would fit. He was tall and slender, but not scrawny--it looked like he had powerful limbs, though I never saw them other than through his clothes. He didn't have a body like Jim's or anything, but he was in good shape." Blair didn't realize exactly how the comment sounded until there was a prolonged silence following it. "Uh, I mean, you know, Jim works out a lot, and, uh, this guy was in good shape but not that good...I mean--"

"I think we've got the idea, Sandburg," Simon cut in. Jim, for his part, was fighting a grin that was dying to escape. Blair just wanted to slide under the table and disappear as he felt the hot blush creep into his cheeks. 

"That description fits Slater," Jim finally added, deflecting a little of the misery off his embarrassed partner. Blair hadn't said anything wrong, but the way he said it sounded more like a lustful appraisal of Jim's physical assets than an objective statement of comparison. Jim shook off that thought. //You're hearing what you want to hear, Ellison. The poor guy's still exhausted from the last two weeks and he just got a little tongue-tied, that's all.//

"This is him?" Blair picked up a page with a photo on it. He shivered a little, and without thinking, Jim reached over and rested a steadying hand on Blair's shoulder. "His eyes are so...empty."

"Why don't you take this information with you and read up on it at home?" Simon suggested, noticing that Blair was looking a little the worse for wear. "I'll give you Detective Starsky's phone number and e-mail address. Call him if there's anything you want to know that isn't in the files. First thing tomorrow morning, fill me in and let me know what your game plan is."

"Will do, Simon. Thanks. Come on, Chief." Jim stood up and opened the door, waiting for Blair to pass through it. 

"Jim?" Simon's voice halted him, and Jim waved Blair on to wait at his desk. 

"Yes, Simon?"

"How's he doing?"

"Okay. He's a little shaky, and he's still sore. He took a pretty bad beating on his back."

"I saw the photos in his file. I could give you some time off, Jim, but I want to get moving on this Slater situation, and that means not letting the grass grow right now."

"That's fine, sir. I think he just needs a little more sleep, and this case is bound to be rough on him. If it's taking too much of a toll, I'll cut him loose for this one. I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is for him."

"Cut him loose? Hope you have some bolt-cutters handy." Simon shook his head as he walked back behind his desk.

"Point taken," Jim replied, laughing a bit as he headed back out the door to join his partner.

* * *

"I'm sorry about that remark I made in Simon's office," Blair said as the truck pulled out of the police garage onto the street.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Chief. You said I was in great shape. I can't get too pissed off about that," Jim concluding, smiling a little.

"I said it all...wrong. Simon must think...I don't even wanna go there."

"What, that you're checking me out?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sure he's received worse shocks in his life."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Checking me out?" Jim asked, keeping his face serious.

"No! I mean, not that there'd be anything wrong with that, and it's not like you're not great-looking and everything, but I...oh, shit. I'm sticking my foot in my mouth again."

"You're looking a little worn out, pal. You just need a little more sleep. How's your back?"

"Hurts," Blair admitted quietly.

"Maybe I can put something on it for you when we get home. Don't you have some kind of potion you use on injuries?"

"I have a couple of lotions I got at Natureworks," Blair replied, mentioning one of his favorite stores for some of the "twigs and bark" he occasionally ate (as Jim called it), as well as various natural home remedies. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't mind." //I can't stand to see you hurting. For any reason.// 

The loft was cozy with a fire starting in the fireplace and the chilly wind of the early October day held at bay outdoors. Jim made hot chocolate while Blair changed into sweat pants and got ready to take a nap for a few hours.

"Ready for me?" Jim asked, walking into the small bedroom where Blair was flaked out on the bed on his stomach.

"Yeah. The lotion's on the night stand." Blair closed his eyes and relaxed, feeling Jim's weight dip the flexible mattress as the larger man sat on the side of it. Jim's hand crept under Blair's hair long enough to lift it carefully aside so it didn't end up receiving lotion along with Blair's back. One hand lingered gently on the back of Blair's head.

"I want five minutes alone with the son of a bitch who did this to you," Jim said quietly, barely controlled rage tightening his throat. Blair's back still sported a large number of criss-crossing reddish stripes over yellowish-green bruises in the process of healing. "I'm so sorry, Chief." Jim's hand had found an unmarked spot on Blair's side, and was absently stroking it. 

"I'll be okay, Jim. You heard what Simon said about turning this into a vigilante thing."

"This won't go unanswered." Jim swallowed hard and reached for the lotion. "Let me know if I hurt you."

"It's probably going to hurt a little, but that lotion does have some anesthetic qualities, so it'll feel a lot better afterwards."

Blair relaxed as he felt the first strokes of Jim's remarkably gentle hand on his back. The light pressure hurt a bit, but it would be worth it when the natural pain-killer in the lotion took effect. The feeling of being pampered and cared for was worth nearly as much, maybe more.

"You want me to go through the Slater file with you?" Blair asked.

"Nope. I want you to relax, and when we're done here, have a little of your hot chocolate and then go to sleep."

"Jim...would you be mad if... Never mind."

"What is it, Chief?"

"Would you be mad if I sort of...did check you out?"

"Oh." Jim was quiet a minute. "No, not at all. Kind of a natural thing to do--you know, you live with somebody, know them real well. I think you tend to evaluate them pretty closely."

"Have you ever...you know, checked me out?" Blair waited through what seemed like an unbearable pause.

"Sure." //From the first moment I realized I loved you more than anyone else. I liked what I saw.//

"I try not to compare too much. I mean, you're way out of my league."

"In what way?" Jim chuckled a little as he replenished the lotion supply on his hand and warmed it a moment before resuming the massage.

"Oh, come on. Look at you."

"Just a different type, Chief. Not better. Different."

"It's starting to feel better. My back, I mean."

"Good. We're almost done."

"Thanks for...taking such good care of me." Blair was surprised to feel the massage stop a moment, then feel the warm pressure of Jim's forehead against the side of his. Warm breath tickled his ear.

"I'm very glad you're here, Chief." And as quickly as it came, the warmth was gone. Jim finished his gentle massage in silence, then encouraged Blair to sit up a few moments and drink a little hot chocolate. "You need more fluids, pal. It should have cooled by now so you can drink some."

"Man, I'm really wasted. I'm so sleepy."

"That's the idea. Drink a little more." Blair obeyed, and when he set the cup aside, Jim helped him into a clean t-shirt. He slid down on his side and curled up in the bed while Jim drew the covers up over Blair's shoulder. A large hand came up and gently lifted Blair's hair away from his face, lightly caressing as it did. "Want me to sit with you while you sleep?"

"You don't have to. If the doors are open and I can still hear you moving around out there, I'll be okay. And it's light outside."

"I won't keep you awake? I have to make some calls and use the computer." Jim didn't realize he'd left his hand resting in the soft curls, but now, as he did, he didn't make any move to change that. He just stroked a little more. It seemed to have a lulling effect on Blair.

"No. Makes me feel safe. Reminds me I'm home," Blair concluded, smiling.

"Sleep tight, Chief. If you need me, just whisper." Not caring how the gesture would be interpreted by any macho standard he'd ever been taught, Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead before standing up and leaving the room.

Feeling very loved and very safe, Blair drifted into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Wesley Slater was responsible for the murders of six people. Four of them were women, the others men. Five of the six had been mutilated in some grotesque manner, the sixth only spared that fate because Slater had been captured just a few moments too late to save the young woman's life, but in time to force him to dispense with her quickly. He had simply slit her throat in one stroke.

He had a textbook background for a serial killer: abusive mother, absent father, and an early interest in dissecting things. How he had possibly ended up as one of Blair's abductors, Jim couldn't imagine. Furthermore, if he had been in charge of the operation, he would have abducted Blair on his own, murdered him in the usual manner and then disposed of the body. He wouldn't have been content to wield a knife and make a few threats. 

Jim took a few notes from the file, then thought back over Blair's statement. Slater, if in fact the knife-bearing man was one in the same, was not in charge of the kidnapping. He taunted and needled Blair when he didn't have anything else to do, or sometimes to put on a show for his accomplices. He didn't actually ever injure Blair, not even as a participant in the beating Blair had gotten for trying to escape.

So who did Slater owe favors to? And who among those people might be big enough stuff to take it out in trade? Who would it be among people with those connections who would want to hurt Blair?

As if on cue, Blair shifted and murmured in his sleep. Jim dialed up his hearing and monitored his sleeping partner to be sure there were no signs of distress in the sounds. 

"Jim." It was a slightly agitated, but still sleeping voice. "Jim," Blair repeated, his voice getting a little louder and more agitated still. Jim left the kitchen table where he'd been working and walked into Blair's room. 

The younger man was flopping around, looking distinctly unhappy. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and caught a hand as it was moving about restlessly.

"I'm right here, Chief," he said softly, hoping to calm the little flurry without waking his exhausted partner.

"Should've...told..." Blair wriggled again, finally turning away from Jim and facing the wall. Blair made a few more whiny attempts at speech, but he was still sleeping.

"Shhh. Sleep, buddy. I'm right here," Jim whispered, stroking Blair's hair lightly. That little touch had seemed to calm Blair immensely before, and it was having the desired effect again as his breathing evened out and the mumblings stopped. "I love you so much, Chief. I couldn't imagine this place, my life, without you in it. Any light or warmth in this apartment left with you and came back with you. I need you more than I need oxygen. Because if I didn't have you, I wouldn't much care about having that either."

Jim straightened the blankets around the sleeping man and finally, reluctantly, left Blair to his rest.

* * *

When Blair opened his eyes, it was night time. The light from the kitchen kept his room from being unbearably shadowy and reminiscent of the windowless room where he'd been trapped for two days. The soft drone of the TV carried in through the open doors, and Blair smiled. Jim was making sure there were some friendly sounds for Blair to hear. For his part, Jim could watch TV with almost no volume and hear everything fine.

He sat up in bed, feeling much better from the prolonged rest and the massage. Getting up, he pulled on his robe and stretched gingerly. His body still ached a bit in protest to the movement, but the massage had helped his back immensely. With a yawn, he made his way out to the living room to join Jim.

"Have a good sleep?" Jim asked, smiling a little as he looked away from the game he was watching.

"Pretty good, yeah." Suddenly, the memory of the dream Blair had experienced flashed through his mind: he had been back in the dark room, thinking over and over again that he wished he'd told Jim how he felt about him, and then Jim had somehow been there, stroking his hair and calming him. The love inside Blair's heart swelled to overflowing at that point, and he moved to the couch where Jim sat and seated himself close next to his partner. Jim seemed a little surprised at first, but soon a large arm moved up to accommodate Blair resting his head on Jim's shoulder. The arm came gently around the smaller man's shoulders.

"You want to talk?" Jim flipped off the TV and looked down at his partner, who was curled up against him on the couch, an arm loosely draped over the larger man's firm midsection.

"Not really. You mind if I just sit here like this? I mean, if I'm bothering you, I can sit on the other couch."

"Stay put, Chief. You're fine. You want to watch the game?"

"Yeah. That's fine. Jim?"

"What?"

"I had this dream...I was in that room...in the dark, I was thinking about all the things...I never said...and that I wanted to talk to you so much before...the end... And then you were there."

"I _was_ in there for a few minutes. You were disturbed about something, and you said my name a couple times, so I sat with you a minute or two and talked to you, and you calmed down again."

"Does it bother you...I mean, do you feel funny about me sitting like this--sort of...uh..."

"Cuddling?" Jim supplied helpfully.

"Well, yeah."

"Should it?"

"No! I just mean...we don't usually..."

"I don't have hang-ups about touching you, Blair. Having you close by is...okay. Very okay," Jim said, nodding as if he'd just reached that conclusion himself.

"I really didn't think I was ever getting out of that room. I used to yell a little at first, and then I decided I better only do that once in a while, because I wasn't sure how airtight the room was. It was pretty stuffy in there. I think I kind of lost touch near the end."

"You were a little disoriented when I first got to you." Jim let his hand wander into Blair's hair, where he idly twisted a soft curl around his finger. Being this intimate with another man should have felt strange, but as usual where Blair was concerned, it was comfortable. For Jim, it was like finally having his mate where he belonged, by his side and touchable.

"I thought about all the things I never said to people. People who matter... Mostly you."

"You've said plenty to me, Chief."

"Before last night, I never told you I loved you. Not once."

"Well, it's not exactly the thing you say to your male roommate every day."

"That's the whole stupid point. Why not? If it's true, why wait and say it to your roommate's dead body?"

"I never told you either, Blair. God knows I never showed you."

"Sure you did. You gave me a real home with you, Jim. You didn't just put up with me for a few weeks and then toss me out. Do you know how many of the people I've lived with--with the possible exception of Naomi--who would have let me stay on after what Larry did to the loft--twice?"

"I knew you didn't mean for it to happen. Accidents happen." Jim frowned as he felt Blair's shiver. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"That's what Greg used to say."

"Who was Greg?"

"Naomi's worst mistake--well, second worst after me."

"Don't you ever dare say something like that about yourself again, Chief. If you weren't planned, you were _unexpected_ but you were _not_ a mistake--because if you're one of God's mistakes, I can't wait to see what He comes up with when He applies Himself."

"That's a really beautiful thing to say, Jim." Blair snuggled closer. "Probably the nicest thing anyone ever said to me."

"Tell me about this Greg character."

"He was an aspiring baseball player. He tried out for everything twice and got passed over. So he was one of these jock types--big, muscular, in great shape. He didn't like me right from the start. I was a nerdy little bookworm with big glasses and I hated him from day one. It was one of those instant dislike things. He slapped me around a little until Naomi found out about it. We were living with him, so we moved out." Blair sighed. "He didn't really put much effort into _hitting_ me. It was more like tripping me or pushing me or making me fall or bang into something. I wasn't very coordinated at that age, and I was getting used to my glasses, which it took a few attempts to get right."

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

"What kind of asshole pushes around a little nine-year-old kid with bad eyes?"

"He thought I was a mama's boy--a sissy. The glasses made me look totally geeky. I hated those things," Blair recalled, laughing. 

"So how did the 'accidents happen' line fit in?"

"After he'd trip me or push me or whatever, he'd say 'accidents happen, kid'. Like it was a big joke."

"Did you tell Naomi?"

"No. Things seemed to be going really well between them, and I didn't want to mess everything up for her. But give anybody enough rope and they'll hang themselves...and he did. He pulled one of his stunts when he thought she was out shopping. It was nice weather, and we were out in the back yard. He had a nice house, actually. Anyway, he intentionally tripped me when I was walking across the patio and I fell and got scraped up pretty badly. He didn't know she was in the kitchen, looking out the window." Blair chuckled a little.

"What is it?" Jim had to smile at Blair's ill-timed laughter.

"I never saw her move that fast, and I never knew she knew so many obscene things to call anyone. She would have made a Marine blush, man. When she was done reading him off, he was still pleading with her to stay--I can't believe she actually did this--but she grabbed me by the arm to lead me inside because we were going to pack and leave--and he tried to stop her and she kneed him right in the balls." Blair laughed again. "I don't think he got out of the lounge chair again until after we were gone."

"Still not a nice experience for a kid," Jim said quietly, still absently stroking Blair's hair.

"We moved around a lot, and I was always on my good behavior. Then I'd go stay with relatives and I had to behave with them. If I screwed up, they'd call Naomi--or give it their best shot, anyway, and send me packing. She never punished me or anything, but I could see she wasn't happy, and that I had messed something up for her. I'm just not used to being able to fuck things up and get another chance."

"That's what home is supposed to be--a place you can screw up and still be welcome."

"It wasn't that for you."

"No. But that doesn't mean I didn't see a few examples of it in my life. Some of my friends had real good relationships with their parents. I was jealous of that." Jim was quiet a moment. "I just wanted my dad to even once say he was proud of me for something. Not look at a report card with five A's and one A- and ask me what happened to cause the A-."

"Too bad it took him so long to change."

"At least he finally did. It's not that any of that really changes the past, but at least he's tried to make some amends. Sometimes you just have to forgive people you love when they mess up. Just like Larry trashing the loft. It was a mistake. You didn't mean to trash the place. It just happened."

"You loved me then?"

"Maybe love is too strong a word for then. I cared about you. Considered you a friend. For some reason, I've never been able to stay as mad at you as I wanted to."

"When did it change?"

"What?"

"When did you love me?"

"After Lash grabbed you...it hit me pretty hard then. I knew I loved you, that you were the closest person in my life. I had never been that scared of losing anybody before," Jim admitted.

"When you let me stay--after Larry--I knew then. You forgave my screw up and made me feel like this was my home."

"And the rest is history?" Jim summarized, looking down at Blair and smiling. "How about dinner?"

"I'm starved." Blair didn't move. "Could we just sit like this a little while first?"

"How about we eat and then watch TV together for a while?" The unspoken suggestion being a little more cuddling.

"Sounds great."

Blair gobbled down a spaghetti dinner with the gusto of a starving man. He was still replenishing his greedy, deprived body, and if the bubbling pot of hot meat sauce hadn't driven him over the edge, the fat meatballs Jim added to the equation did the trick. 

"Ready for seconds?" Jim asked, smiling a little. Blair usually didn't make it past the first plate, but he had polished that off and with a couple of stifled burps, had cleaned up every last crumb of his garlic bread.

"No way, man. I think I'm gonna explode now." Blair leaned back in the chair and sighed. "That was great. Thanks for making all this stuff. I know it probably wasn't your favorite way to spend the evening."

"We both needed something decent for dinner. I've been eating out of boxes and wrappers when I ate at all, and I know you haven't exactly been keeping your nutrition up lately."

"Not really. Being a hostage is hard on the appetite." Blair took another drink of the spring water he'd chosen for his beverage. He was still replenishing his fluids diligently. "So what's the schedule for tomorrow?"

"I'd like to see you stay home and get some rest."

"Jim, I'm not that bad off that I need to stay home in bed. I want to be in on this case. These bastards kidnapped _me_. I want to be part of bringing them down."

"The Slater case isn't a pretty one, Chief. I know it's got to be a little unnerving having been with the creep and then concentrating all this time on what kinds of crimes he committed. I thought maybe it would be easier if you let me handle this and concentrated on getting better and getting back to work at the U. I'll make sure we have one of the best keeping an eye on you until Slater's behind bars."

"A guard? You really think that's necessary?"

"It is as far as I'm concerned. I don't want to take any chances on it and then say, 'gee, we should have had a guard'."

"I guess not. I do have to get back to work, but still--I don't want to be left out of this case."

"Okay. Fair enough. I just didn't want you to feel like you had to go through all this if it would help at all to distance yourself a little."

"I can't distance myself at all. He's in my head, Jim. I can't get away from that." Blair took another drink of his water, looking as if he'd blurted out more than he wanted to say.

"I know that feeling." Jim pushed a little leftover sauce around with a cooled piece of garlic bread he had no plans to eat. "The demons that live in your head are worse than any of the ones you're exposed to everyday."

"Do you have demons?"

"I think everyone does. I have a few that'll probably always be there."

"Do they ever...quiet down?" Blair asked, his face very serious.

"Lash quieted down eventually, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but I knew he was dead."

"We'll nail Slater. He'll either end up behind bars again or six feet under. But either way, he won't touch you again. You know I'm not going to let anything happen to you, right?"

"I know you'll try not to." Blair let out a long breath. "Lash quieted down. Until I ran into Slater. Now they're sort of mixing and blending in my mind until I don't know who I'm afraid of anymore." Blair shook his head and smiled a little. "It's weird. I always thought that if I really had to go through a terrible violent crime, it would be because of working at the PD. But this...I was going to my damn car in the University parking lot."

"At two in the morning. Shit, Blair, what am I gonna do with you?" Jim seemed genuinely exasperated. "You know how fucking _deserted_ that part of the campus is after about eleven o'clock at night. What were you thinking?"

"So now it's my fault I got kidnapped?" Blair shot back defensively.

"No! Anymore than it's any crime victim's _fault_ because they're victimized. But there are some precautions common sense dictates--"

"Like you don't ever skulk around somewhere in the middle of the night where you're not totally safe."

"Blair, I'm an armed cop who can see and hear trouble before it ever gets near me. I have combat training and Covert Ops training. It's a little different for me to go get take outs at a diner on the wrong side of the tracks in the middle of the night shift than it is for an unarmed, untrained civilian to purposely put himself in a deserted, dangerous situation for no good reason."

"No good reason? Jim, I was working with a study group of honor students. Now I know that doesn't sound like it has any value, but it's important to me." Blair pushed back from the table and stood up. "My stupid little academic world does have some meaning, even if only to me and a handful of my better students. Was it worth getting kidnapped to hold that session? No, not really. Am I gonna start living my life in a fucking plastic bubble because of it? No way." Blair started for his room, and before Jim knew he was doing it, he was on his feet and grabbing Blair's arm, turning him around.

"I'm not saying all of that isn't important, Chief. I'm saying that it isn't worth risking your life. There must be some time these people can meet or some place that's safe."

"Like where? Jim, these are dorm students and students who live in small apartments with non-honors program roomies, for the most part. I can't go to the dorms because studying there is like trying to study in a war zone--the same goes for the apartments. The main buildings get locked up after ten-thirty at night and the cafeteria closes at ten. My office is pretty cramped, and that really wouldn't be any safer anyway. I can sometimes get a key from the librarian to use that, which is ideal in case we need to look something up." Blair paused for a breath. "It's very important to me to do this well. The honors program is a dirty job that a lot of the faculty don't want, but it could be a real feather in my cap if I could breathe a little life into it. It's been labeled 'The Nerd Club' for so long, and has consisted of nothing more than extra homework pretty much since the beginning. I'm trying to add something to it. I think it's working. I know none of that looks like anything, but it means something to me."

"Blair, listen to me. I think what you're doing is very important, and if anybody can breathe life into anything stuffy and stagnant, it's you." Jim relaxed a little at the pleased look that swept over Blair's face. "I'm sorry if I sound like I'm dismissing what you do. I'm not. I'm very much...well, I guess you could say I'm in awe of it." Jim loosened his grip on Blair's arm with a slightly apologetic look on his face. He put the same hand up to Blair's face, cupping his cheek gently. "I just don't want to lose you. Especially not for a risk we could have avoided. I'm sorry I got on your case, but...I had a taste of things around here without you, and I didn't like it."

"I'm not used to someone worrying about me that way. You know, wanting me to check in and stuff."

"I don't mean to put a bunch of restrictions on your movements, Chief. I'll try not to get on you about it. As a cop...I see so many ugly things happen to people who weren't guilty of anything more than asserting their God-given right to walk down a street at two in the morning. I don't know how many rape cases I've been called out on that were nothing more than some poor woman trying to go to her car in a situation not unlike yours, or leaving a night club or whatever. Or some guy ends up stabbed 20 times for the watch on his wrist and the $50 in his wallet. It isn't right that anybody has to be afraid, but nobody ever said life was fair."

"I don't mind. I thought I would really hate that--you know, somebody telling me to call home if I was going to be late, somebody worrying if I didn't come home. But it was nice to know, when it was all happening, that you were gonna worry about me and come looking for me. I could have been dead a couple days before anyone else I've ever been with would have known the difference."

"Why don't you have your study group here?"

"What? Jim, there are six students, and we sometimes meet for three or four hours, late at night."

"I've got earplugs and blinders. I can dial down my hearing. Maybe it wouldn't have to be _so_ late--maybe you could back it up a little."

"You'd really let me do that here?"

"This is your home too, Chief. You have a right to have people over if you want. I appreciate that you don't keep me up many nights, because I don't like functioning without enough sleep on the job. But a couple nights a week wouldn't kill me, and we could probably figure out a compromise on the time." Jim wasn't really prepared for the bear hug that earned him, but he smiled and wrapped his arms around Blair happily.

"Thank you."

"Your safety is important to me, buddy. Not just when you're riding with me. Your days of haunting that campus after hours are over, are we clear on that?"

"What if I have to stay late for something?" Blair pulled back a little.

"Then you let me know that and I'll come get you."

"Jim, I don't know--"

"What is there that you really have to be there that late for?"

"Well, I guess sometimes I just use it for catch up time. And it's easier to work at my desk than in my room because my room's a mess with books everywhere. Sometimes I have research material stacked up in my office that I don't haul home with me. Lots of reasons."

"If you had a better place to work here, would that help?" Jim didn't think too much about the fact he hadn't really let Blair out of his arms, and now he smoothed a little stray hair away from Blair's face as if he touched him that intimately every day.

"Probably. But there isn't room."

"You tell me what you need, and we'll make room for it. Or we'll move."

"You love this place!" Blair protested.

"I love you more," Jim shot back, without even thinking. It was the truth, and it came out automatically. He hadn't even been able to say that much to Carolyn. She hadn't liked the loft, but that hadn't moved Jim at all--either emotionally or literally. He liked his home, was happy with it and its location and the view from the balcony. All of that was worthless when Blair was gone.

"Jim..." Blair started to speak, but didn't bother finishing the thought as Jim lowered his face slowly, and then very hesitantly touched his lips to Blair's. The response was immediate. Blair's mouth opened slightly, inviting him in as the younger man's arms wound around him again, pulling him close. 

Jim's tongue slipped past the soft barrier of Blair's lips into his mouth, finding its mate and sparring with it tentatively. Blair groaned somewhere low in his throat, and his hand slid into Jim's hair to hold him in place, lest his mouth had any plans to move away anytime soon.

When a need for air forced them to part, both men stood panting, their foreheads resting together.

"Blair...I...I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Blair's head shot up. 

"I took advantage of you."

"Oh, yeah, you really forced me into that one," Blair replied, grinning. "Maybe we should try it again, and this time, _I'll_ take advantage of _you_." Blair waggled his eyebrows.

"This isn't a joke."

"No, it's not. I'm...I guess I'm a little nervous. I've wanted to do that for so long and then you just... _do it_."

"You wanted...for how long?"

"A while," Blair replied, looking down. 

"When?" Jim hooked a finger under Blair's chin and raised his face again so they were looking into each other's eyes.

"After Megan kissed you--the fake one while we were undercover?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I remember now. In the driveway at that house." Jim frowned. "That was the deciding factor?"

"Well, I had feelings I didn't...quite understand for a while. I know it hurt like hell when I came in on you with Lila that morning. And when you were talking like she might be the one and I knew you loved her...I didn't know why that should hurt so much. I've always been happy for my friends when they found someone. I've never been happy for you about that--almost from the beginning. I hated myself for being relieved every time your relationships crashed. Then when Megan kissed you, and was walking around pretending to be your wife, I realized that _I_ wanted to be the one in that role--well, not your _wife_ exactly, but you know what I mean." 

"You certainly didn't waste much time getting to know Katie across the street. What was that about?"

"It was about reaching out for something attainable when the thing you really want, isn't." Blair shook his head. "I saw you as a fantasy. I might have had a reality with Katie, but after a while, I realized it wasn't fair to her so I didn't call her. That happened with a lot of women--actually, it happened with Sam, and that's why she was so pissed at me all the time. She had the feeling there was someone else, but she couldn't pin it down or figure out who it was."

"Then it's been a while that you've had _some_...feelings?"

"A couple years I guess. I know we have a lot to work out--"

"I love you as a hell of a lot more than a friend. I don't want to analyze it to death. Since you didn't just feed me my lips for lunch here, and you feel the same way, I'd kind of like to enjoy it."

"I wasn't going to suggest talking," Blair responded in a decidedly sultry tone. 

"You weren't, huh?" Jim slid his arms around Blair's waist and hoisted him up so their lips would be level. He almost dropped the younger man on the floor when Blair let out a little moan of pain and held onto Jim's shoulders to ease the pressure on his back and bruised ribs. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay," Blair managed as his feet landed back on the floor. Then he looked up, blinking. "You called me 'sweetheart'."

"I guess I did. I won't if you don't like it."

"Say it again."

"Sweetheart," Jim repeated softly, stroking Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers. Blair leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "Sweetheart. My sweetheart," Jim concluded, punctuating it with a light kiss on each of Blair's closed eyelids, and finally one on his lips--a chaste, closed-mouth reaffirmation of his love.

"I love it," Blair whispered in a strained voice. "Almost as much as I love you."

"I didn't mean to hurt you before. I guess I just got carried away." Jim rested his hands on Blair's shoulders, rubbing lightly. "This is...kind of unexpected."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you that night. I know I said I'd be home before you were. I guess I didn't realize you...cared so much."

"I shouldn't be laying down edicts about where you can and can't go. I don't mean to do that. But I don't want anything to happen to you. And maybe we can...redo things a little around here so you don't have to be out late so much. I know you'll probably still want to go out with your friends and I wouldn't want to be the wet blanket on that--"

"Jim, I never thought I'd get a chance to say this to you, but you're babbling, man." Blair was grinning, and it totally disarmed Jim from the irritable response that was on the tip of his tongue. 

"I am, huh?"

"What does this mean? I mean, we know we love each other, and it looks like there's a lot more than friendship here, but..."

"You want some definition?" Jim asked.

"I guess." Blair nodded, looking down again. "I wouldn't even ask you to be exclusive. I know that's way too much to ask. But, uh, I just wanna know...you know, if we're gonna last...or if...you're still, kind of...looking...well, for...if you'd still be wanting to get married someday."

"Blair," Jim said softly, reaching again under Blair's chin to raise his face so they were looking into each other's eyes. "Do you want to ask it?"

"What?"

"To be exclusive. Is that how you'd like it?" Jim probed, still stunned that Blair would even want that kind of relationship with him. A little experimentation or maybe even an affair, but long-term love?

Blair sucked in his bottom lip and looked at Jim worriedly, then nodded.

"But it's okay if you don't want me that way," he added in a voice that sounded as if it was coming from a partially closed throat. Blair cleared it before continuing. "There are no conditions on this, Jim. I love you, in whatever way you'll let me."

"Do you mean you'd really give up your six volume little black book for a drab middle-aged cop?"

"No. But I'd burn it in a heartbeat for _you_."

Wordlessly, Jim pulled the smaller body into a gentle embrace, burying his nose in soft, fragrant curls. He finally slipped his hand into those curls and held Blair's head firmly against his shoulder. 

"I'm never letting you go, sweetheart. And there won't ever be anybody else." He felt an increased answering pressure from Blair, and a shaky intake of breath. "Love you so much, baby."

"Love you too. I never thought you'd want me like this," Blair responded, his voice shaky. "I wanted to tell you so much...and when I thought I was going to die in that room and you'd never know..."

"Shhh. You didn't die in that room, sweetheart. You're here, you're home. We're together. We've got a whole lifetime."

"Jim, you can't..." Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim, and the larger man brushed away a couple of tears that escaped Blair's eyes. "Loving me is going to ruin your career. If anybody finds out--"

"They'll have to deal with it. And if they can't, they'll have to deal with _me_. And if we have too much trouble, we'll pack up and go somewhere else and start over."

"Anywhere you go, having a male lover is going to make your life miserable." Blair swallowed a time or two, trying to control new tears that slid down his cheeks. "I should love you enough to walk away, to pack up my stuff and get out. I'm not doing you any favors by turning your life upside down." Blair looked up at Jim again, and the final words came out in a constricted whisper, "But I can't leave you."

Jim clutched his lover closer to him, leaning his head against Blair's.

"If you ever leave me, I'll spend forever tracking you down and even longer proving to you how much I love you. It would be kinder for you to cut my heart out, because after the last two weeks--if I had any doubts before--I know I don't want to live without you."

"But being with me...it's going to screw everything up. You'll always be an outcast."

"As long as you love me, I'm not an outcast, sweetheart."

"But the PD...society...Jim, it's not fair for me to come along and drag you into an alternative lifestyle."

"It's not fair for you to light up my life and warm up my home and give me a reason for getting up in the morning either because I probably don't deserve you. Maybe the price for having the greatest gift I could ever ask for is dealing with society's...shit. So be it. You're worth any price to me, Blair. And I won't change my mind when it happens. The whole fucking world can crash around me as long as I still come out of it with you. Is that clear?" Jim added firmly, pushing Blair back enough to look into his puffy wet eyes. "Don't you ever dare forget that you're number one with me. Everything else is a very distant second."

"My career...it's a little different. Intellectuals are supposed to be weird. A gay professor can be a lot better tolerated than a gay cop."

"Gay? What is that? A label? There's no right label for what I feel for you. I don't care that you're a man. If you were a woman, I'd still love you. I would have made some move before this but I thought it was one-sided--the part that went beyond a deep friendship." Jim let out an exasperated sigh. "All my life, I've pleased someone else. First there was my mother, but that obviously didn't fly because she divorced my dad and dumped Stephen and me with him. Then I knocked myself out trying to please the old man, and that was a lost cause. Then I went into the military, and that's _all_ about pleasing someone else. I jumped through hoops for Carolyn and _nothing_ was good enough. Hell, when I moved into Major Crimes, I had to redo my whole fucking _image_ to make them happy. You know what? Fuck 'em all." Jim walked away, pacing. "I've spent every goddamned minute of my pathetic life doing what someone else wanted me to do. And it got me nothing but a crock of shit and a lot of pain. The only person I've been 100% myself with, that I've taken out all my bad moods on, that I've hurt and slighted and underappreciated--hell, I've forgotten your birthday, I've snapped your head off for no good reason, I've steam rolled you with house rules--I've _never_ tried to please you. Even once. And out of all that, you love _me_. Not Jim Ellison the model son, not Jim Ellison the model husband, not Jim Ellison the model cop! Just plain old Jim Ellison the jerk. Just _me_ in all my glory. That's real. That's love. That's what forever sounds like to me. I don't owe any of those other assholes out there giving up my forever to make them happy."

"You're not a jerk, Jim. And sure, you've got your moods, but so do I. We've had a weird start to this relationship. We've never been stiff and pretentious with each other because we weren't strutting our stuff to land a mate." Blair smiled. "You only forgot my birthday the first year I knew you, and after that, you always remembered it. You've given me a home like I've never had before. I _belong_ here. You protect me, you stick up for me. You let me in places you don't let anyone else in. And you're always _here_. Jim, nobody in my life has _always_ been there for me. When I got the flu last year and I called you from my office, I _knew_ you'd be on the other end of that cell phone, and I _knew_ you'd take care of everything. When I've had a really terrible day and I just need to dump on somebody, I know I can do that to you because I know you'll be _here_. You'll listen and you'll care--enough so that I have to worry about you lying in wait in the parking lot for a couple of my more belligerent students." Blair grinned and Jim laughed a little.

"I don't do the caveman routine quite _that_ heavily...do I?"

"Not caveman. Blessed protector." Blair smiled and looked down. "When I made that joke, way back after Lash?" Blair paused. "I expected you to brush it off and say something about not wanting to be stuck with me that long--you know, for life. But you didn't. You just let it pass and joked around with me about Christine. I know it was all in fun, but still--it meant a lot to me that you didn't act like having me with you for the rest of time would be the worst thing that could happen to you."

"It was something I didn't expect, Chief. I still wonder what's going to happen when you get your Ph.D."

"I'm going to have three more cool letters after my name on my cards, and hopefully, an office where the roof doesn't leak when it rains a lot."

"So that's how you got that fancy office."

"Yeah," Blair responded, laughing a little. "As soon as the Board approves a new roof for Hargrove Hall, I am _so_ out of that office. But see, there's a leak right inside the door, so after a senior faculty member had a really important guest trip over a rainwater bucket..." Blair shrugged. "The rest is history. But all that's beside the point. Jim, you just told me I was number one with you. I feel the same way where you're concerned. I don't want to leave you, and as long as we're together, the rest of the stuff can just sort of...fit in where it can, I guess."

"But what if you have this wonderful opportunity to go study some tribe somewhere for a year? I don't want to tie you down. You're so worried that loving you is going to ruin my life. Well, getting tied down probably isn't going to do a hell of a lot for yours either."

"Maybe not. But I can't help how I feel. I don't want to leave you for any reason. So if someday you can take a leave of absence and travel with me, it would be a dream come true. If not, then so be it. I've spent my whole life with no ties, man. And let me tell you a big fat secret. It sucks. You have nothing solid. Nothing to hold onto. I've seen a lot of places. But when I go somewhere now by myself, all I keep thinking is what I want to tell you about it, or how much fun it would be if we were together and could experience it together. I feel... cut in half when you're not with me."

"Can you really stay here and stagnate and have a successful career?"

"I probably can't do it without ever taking a trip somewhere, but can I do it without going on prolonged expeditions? Absolutely. I already have a better publication record than some of the established faculty, which is a big thing at Rainier. 'Publish or perish', you know the old saying. But a couple weeks every few years isn't a problem, whether I have to go alone or you take vacation and come with me. Jim, if you want me this way, it's my free choice to accept that. It's not like you're forcing me into anything. I'm not tied down. I'm settled. And I like it."

"Why don't we sit down a minute? I want to do this right." Jim took Blair by both hands and led him over to the couch, where they both sat on the edge of the cushions, still holding hands. "What I'm asking you..." Jim took a deep breath, then looked into the expectant blue eyes watching him intently, hanging on his every word. "I'm asking you to share my life, Blair. To be my life partner, my lover, my best friend...my...soulmate. I'm not asking you for an affair or a roll in the sack. I'm asking you for a commitment. I know we can't do things traditionally like other couples, but...in whatever way we can do it, I'm asking you to marry me." Jim waited, suddenly panicking that he'd misinterpreted everything, that he was rushing Blair, that he would scare him away, that he was nuts for wanting to commit a lifetime to someone he hadn't done more than kiss. Was he crazy to propose to another man when he had no clue if either of them would even _like_ sex with another man?

Blair was still silent, looking a little stunned and obviously stricken speechless.

"It's okay, Chief. I know I jumped the gun. I don't want you to feel pressured. I didn't mean to--"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes. You asked me to marry you. The answer is 'yes'. A big, fat, resounding YES!!!" Blair bellowed, launching himself at Jim and throwing his arms tightly around the other man's neck. 

Jim received the enthusiastic hug with as much gentleness as he could manage, not wanting Blair to hurt himself any more than he probably already had by body-slamming Jim into the couch. When Blair pulled back, he was straddling Jim's lap.

"I love you, Jim." Blair's face looked like it might split in half with his dazzling smile. "Oh, God, I can't believe you're gonna be all mine. Forever." Blair stroked the sides of Jim's face as if he'd just been granted the greatest treasure in the universe. "Take a good look at me, man. Are you sure you really want to be stuck with me forever?"

"And beyond, sweetheart. Forever isn't long enough." Jim gathered his mate close again, gently caressing Blair's back, planting kisses in the soft hair.

"You're my whole life, love. I'll do my best to make you happy."

"You already do, just by being here, Chief. You don't have to try." Jim smiled. "Now me, on the other hand--I have a little more work to do."

"No you don't. I love you just the way you are. Don't you dare change." Blair pulled back. "We love each other for the people we are. That's a rare gift. To know someone so well and love them for that and not what face they've put on to impress you."

"How would you...uh...feel about...sleeping upstairs?"

"I'd feel great about it." Blair shifted around so he was resting against Jim's chest. "I want to be with you." 

"But?"

"But what?"

"Something's bothering you. Out with it."

"What are we gonna do about this at the station? At the U? Out in public?"

"Would it bother you to keep it between us for right now? With the Slater case going full blast, it's going to be a hectic time anyway, and I think it might be a little less distracting for everyone concerned, including us, if we didn't have the whole 'outing' issue to handle this fast."

"You're right. This is a bad time."

"Not for us to get together, but for making it public."

"We don't have to take out ads in the paper or anything. I want to tell Naomi, but it's not like she hangs out at the PD, so that won't be a problem."

"How do you think she's going to react?" Jim asked.

"If I'm happy, she'll be happy. She never worried too much about labels."

"Be interesting to see how my father wraps his mind around this one," Jim opined, smiling and rolling his eyes.

"He's probably going to hate it."

"Ask me now if I care."

"You just started to get things ironed out with him."

"And if they're really ironed out, this won't change that. He'll accept the person I love and my life choices. If he can't...well, then we really didn't have anything better than we ever had, and it's no big loss."

"How about Simon?"

"I don't know." Jim let out a long sigh. "On a personal level, Simon is a very open-minded, tolerant person. On a professional level...well, he's a professional. Technically, he could have some problems with keeping us together as partners if we're also lovers. The only loophole he could use, if he chose, would be that according to the PD personnel records, you're not my partner. You're a consultant. So therefore you're just another PD part-time staff member. There's no rule against my sleeping with another staff member."

"There is now." Blair smiled from his resting place against Jim. "I'm the _only_ staff member you can sleep with."

"Speaking of which, it's about time you got to bed, Chief."

"Me? By myself?" Blair was still grinning.

"Not on your life. Besides, I'm still pretty wiped myself." Jim looked down into Blair's slightly inquisitive face. "I want your bruises a little better healed before we fool around, baby."

"I'm kind of glad to hear you say that. I mean, I want to, but I want to feel good when we do something--I don't want to be favoring bruises."

"I don't want you to have to favor this kind of pain ever again, sweetheart. I'm going to try to keep you safe."

"You _do_ keep me safe. You were right. I took a dumb chance in that parking lot, and I paid for it. Plain and simple."

"I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought this was in any way your fault."

"I know. And it wasn't my _fault_ , but I did put myself at risk, and I didn't call and tell you when I'd be home or that I'd be later than I originally thought. Nobody would have known for sure to check up on me. If you didn't have pull at the PD, you couldn't have gotten the ball rolling for two days."

"Fat lot of good it did."

"You did everything humanly possible. And you found me."

"By accident."

"Hearing my heartbeat and not giving up until you tore that basement apart wasn't an accident, love."

"We're going to get these assholes behind bars." //But not before I've had a chance to do a little dance with the bastard with the belt,// Jim vowed silently, tightening his hold on Blair.

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from two. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part three  
by Candy Apple

"Sandburg and I can pick you up at the airport. What is your flight number?" Jim's voice wafted up to the loft bedroom, where Blair still dozed, his face mostly buried in Jim's pillow. The younger man finally forced his eyes open and sat up, a little disoriented momentarily at his surroundings. "Great. Yeah, we'll be there." Jim concluded his phone call and let out an audible sigh.

"Jim?" Blair called from upstairs.

"Morning, Chief. I was going to check your vital signs if you didn't move pretty soon," Jim said good-naturedly as he headed upstairs. 

"What time is it?"

"Nine." Jim leaned down and kissed Blair's mouth quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel, sweetheart?"

"Better--but Simon's gotta be hopping mad right about now."

"I talked to him this morning. Right now, our best lead is Slater. We've got APB's out on him. Without visual descriptions, there isn't much we can do to hunt down the other two just yet. I _have_ been reviewing all our old case files, and a few of mine from before you started working with me... Just looking for any asshole with a grudge who might snatch you to get back at me."

"Any luck?"

"Sure. A nice long list of friends, relatives and other assorted head cases to check up on. Of course now, we're going to be getting the expert hot shots from LA in here to show us how it's done."

"Starsky, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, and his partner, Hutchinson. They've been on the force close to thirty years now. I can't wait to have all that wisdom imparted on me."

"Maybe they can help us."

"I don't need a couple of mentors guiding me in how to track a killer." Jim shook his head. "I think they're jumping the gun awfully fast sending them up here right now."

"Slater is deadly. Look what he's capable of? We could have a whole new rash of killings if he isn't caught. Those are big stakes, Jim."

"Yeah, they're big stakes. Lash was big stakes, Chapel was big stakes--we didn't need help nailing them."

"So this is a turf thing?"

"Don't analyze me, Chief. That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it?"

"It's about sending me a couple of guys who think they know everything because they're part of some special West Coast task force in serial killers, and they have an arrest record that would intimidate God," Jim snapped back. 

"So do you."

"So do _we_ ," Jim corrected. "But they're not sentinels. At least I don't think they are."

"Look, Jim, I think you're judging these guys a little prematurely. Not every older guy with experience is a jerk. You got along with Jack Pendergrass."

"That was because I was on a rebellion kick when I got out of Vice and I needed some attitude adjustment to fit into a conservative department like Major Crimes. I don't need that now. I would have liked a chance to pursue this on my own for a while."

"You want revenge," Blair said solemnly.

"Is that so wrong?" Jim was up and pacing now. "They almost killed you. Terrorized you. And I want to kill that son of a bitch who did that to your back!" Jim turned to Blair with an almost feral, borderline homicidal, gleam in his eyes. "And I don't want anybody in my way when I find them."

"Then I'm glad they're coming. Because I don't stand a chance of reasoning with you on this."

"I love you. And I can't deal with the mental image of some son of a bitch beating you and then whipping you with a belt while you were handcuffed and helpless on the floor! Locking you in a room and leaving you there to die of starvation and dehydration?! There's no reasoning with that! There's only justice. Oh, shit, Incacha was so right. I should have listened to him." Jim turned away and moved toward the window. "There's no Chopec law. There's no American law. There's only _justice_. And for some wrongs, the law isn't adequate."

"Jim, listen to me." Blair got out of bed and moved to where Jim stood by the window. He laid a gentle hand on his partner's arm. "I know that there's an instinct in you that's very strong--"

"Don't start that caveman shit again with me, Sandburg."

"I wasn't going to do that. I _was_ going to say that there is an instinct in you that's very strong that compels you to protect the tribe. Beyond that, you and I have always had an unusually strong bond. So that instinct is about quadrupled when it comes to me. I know you're fighting an instinctive drive to revert to the hunter--to hunt them down, to exact primitive justice. But you have to fight that, Jim. Your sentinel nature...your senses are a gift, and what you can do with them is a gift. But there are parts of being a Sentinel that are a curse. I know that. Having some powerful instinctual drives that sometimes overpower your better judgement is one of those curses. But you know it's there, and you've got to contain it."

"How?" Jim turned and looked down at his guide. "How do I look at what they did to you and contain it?"

"Because I want you to." Blair knew that was a bit manipulative, but he also knew it was better for Jim to be manipulated than imprisoned for a vigilante-style murder. "I love you, Jim. I don't want to spend my weekends on the other side of a pane of glass from you talking to you on the telephone. And killing someone for revenge goes against everything I believe in. So I'm asking you, for me, please, contain the urge. Use it to energize your investigation, but _don't_ turn it loose."

"Damn." Jim walked away, finally sitting on the side of the bed.

"What?"

"You know I'd do anything for you, Blair," he said quietly. "You're not leaving me a choice."

"I want you to choose us. Because if you self-destruct on this case, there won't ever _be_ an us." Blair crouched in front of Jim until they had eye contact. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Jim's features softened immeasurably as he pulled the other man back on the bed with him, claiming his mouth gently, probing and seeking entrance with his tongue. Blair's response was immediate, opening to Jim and sliding their tongues together.

"Look at you," Jim said, smiling at his red-lipped, breathless partner. "God, you're so beautiful." Jim tangled his fingers in silky curls that fanned out against the sheets. "You can't blame me for wanting a piece of those bastards."

"No, I can't. And I don't. But don't let them take this away from us."

"Never." Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose. "We better haul ass. Simon's good humor is only going to stretch so far."

* * *

Jim checked his watch again. The flight from LAX due in to Cascade International carrying the two California detectives Jim anticipated as the bane of his existence was a good hour late. Pacing back and forth like a caged panther in the small waiting area, he tried to dial down the barrage of scents, sights and sounds that assailed him from all sides. 

"That must be them," Blair commented, standing up from his seat in one of the plastic chairs where he had been thumbing through a magazine. 

"What makes you say that?"

"Right age, and they're traveling together. Just a guess." Blair shrugged. 

A man just a bit shorter than Jim with a slender build and golden blond hair, dressed in jeans, a blue sweater and winter jacket walked next to a slightly shorter, more solidly built man with a mop of curly dark hair and a ready smile. He wore a black leather jacket, red shirt and jeans. Both men were carrying suitbags and duffle bags, the dark-haired man talking almost incessantly about something, which finally made the more subdued blond laugh a bit before they approached their hosts.

"Ellison?" The blond man asked, approaching Jim and Blair where they stood in the waiting area.

"Starsky?" Jim replied.

"I'm Hutchinson, he's Starsky," the man replied with a laugh that revealed a set of even white teeth. He extended his hand, which Jim shook. "My friends call me Hutch."

"Jim Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." After handshakes went all around following introductions, Jim extended a hand to take some of the luggage. "Can we give you a hand with that?"

"We've got it, thanks. Where're you parked?" Starsky asked as the group fell into step toward the exit. His voice carried the slight hint of a New York accent.

"Right out front," Jim responded.

"Maybe he remembers to put the ID somewhere visible," Hutch commented, shooting his partner a sideways glance.

"I only got towed twice--and the last time was six years ago. Geez." Starsky shook his head.

"How was your trip?" Blair asked as they loaded the luggage into the trunk of the unmarked police sedan they'd borrowed to pick up their guests.

"Other than the delay at LAX, it was pretty uneventful," Hutch replied, sliding into the backseat with his partner while Jim and Blair occupied the front seats.

"This weather must be kind of a let down after LA," Jim added, starting up the engine.

"Hutch's family is from Minnesota, so we're used to some cold weather trips. No big deal. So what've you got on Slater, anything new?"

"Not really," Jim responded, feeling the seeds of dread taking root. They weren't even out of the airport lot, and he already felt like he had to defend himself. "The puzzling thing here is how he ended up with two accomplices abducting Blair. It doesn't make sense. What truly doesn't make sense is that..." Jim struggled for the wording in front of his partner.

"That he didn't slice me up like he did his other victims. Why he was content to let the other two run the show and lock me up in a room to kill me instead of doing it directly," Blair added, completing the thought.

"So who would have a motive to kidnap you?" Starsky asked directly. "Are we talking about money? Ellison mentioned you were a researcher. Are you researching anything potentially sensitive?"

//Yeah. He's sitting next to me,// Blair thought, rolling his eyes. He formulated a more acceptable reply. 

"No," he lied blatantly. The whole sentinel project was potentially sensitive, but to reveal the real nature of it in this setting wasn't a good idea. 

"Blair--Starsky asked you a question," Jim prodded.

"Oh, sorry. What?"

"What is your research project?" the other man repeated.

"I'm studying behavior in closed societies. Police departments are a prime example, so the PD lets me ride along with Jim."

"With the exception of carrying a weapon, Blair's become my partner as much as any cop I would ride with," Jim added.

"Thinking of a career change?" Hutch asked. 

"No way, man!" Blair shot back, laughing a little. "I am _so_ not into guns."

"Truthfully, I'm not either," Hutch responded, still smiling slightly.

"If anyone says they're 'into guns', they usually flunk the entrance interview," Starsky added, yawning. "So where's a decent place to eat around here?"

"If you like Italian, there's Tony's--that's on the way to the station."

"Guaranteed to clog all your arteries in one sitting," Blair grumbled in response to Jim's suggestion.

"How's their pizza?" Starsky asked, undaunted by the health warning.

"Best in town," Jim responded, somewhat relieved to have found a kindred soul, at least in terms of food.

"How's their pasta?" Hutch added, ignoring his partner's inquiry.

"Stick to the spaghetti," Blair advised. "Everything else has a six pound slab of rubber cheese over it."

"I can live with spaghetti. You're a health food person?" Hutch leaned forward a bit in the backseat.

"Oh, God," Starsky muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I try. Before you go back, I'll treat you to lunch at The Rainforest."

"'Treat' isn't the right word here, Chief. More like, _subject_."

"They have a great juice bar, some incredible salads--the owner is very creative. Plus the atmosphere is really cool. They even have a cyber cafe in the back with Net access."

"I think they have a plaque on one of the tables for him," Jim added.

"Better than plaque in my arteries from all those Tony's take-outs," Blair shot back.

"You know, I could pull over so you could _walk_ the rest of the way back to the station," Jim teased, barely containing a grin.

The four men arrived at the restaurant and were seated promptly, as it was past the lunch hour, and the crowd was sparse. Jim and Starsky reached an agreement quickly on a pizza to split while Blair and Hutch settled for spaghetti and salad.

"When you nailed Slater the first time, what was his real downfall?" Jim asked, taking a drink of the cola that was a sorry substitute for the beer he wanted to go with his pizza.

"Slasher movies, if you can believe it," Starsky responded, chewing on a bread stick. "The guy's obsessed with them. It's like research. We found that some of his mutilations were exact parallels to the ones he watched in his favorite movies. It wasn't too hard to nail him once we found out that little tidbit. 'Halloween 5' was released, and guess who attended the first day it opened in theaters?"

"So you busted him there?" Jim clarified.

"Afterward, in the parking lot," Hutch replied. "Way too many people in the theater to chance it. The S.O.B. sure can run. I chased him for God-knows how many blocks, and Starsk finally cut him off with the car. Of course, he grabbed a six-year-old girl along the way and threatened to cut her throat. So we were in a stand-off with him for about two hours while he holed up in a vacant storefront. The worst part of it with him was that we had no doubt he'd do it just to teach us a lesson, even if it meant we'd 'win' and he lost his leverage."

"So how'd you get to him?" Blair asked, his fork frozen mid-twirl in his spaghetti.

"We got a hold of the building owner, found out where all the exits were, and Starsk went in through the basement and offered himself as a trade. That was _not_ a joint decision," Hutch added. "It was a fucking kamikaze mission."

"It worked. That little girl didn't know any moves to pull on him. He was dumb enough to go for it--figured a cop would be good insurance, and even better frontal coverage while he tried to get into the escape car he'd ordered the cops to produce for him. He let her go, that was the important thing."

"And stabbed the hero here twice in the back when he pulled his famous 'moves'," Hutch remarked, laying his fork aside. 

"We had no choices. Better for him to take me out than kill that little girl. Fortunately, I had one or two of the nine lives left, and I lived to tell."

"Unfortunately, Slater was only wounded by the shot I got off. I wasn't aiming as well as I should have. I knew he'd stabbed Starsky at least twice and he wasn't moving."

"Seeing your partner go down is probably the worst experience a cop can have," Starsky said quietly. "We've both been there too damn many times."

"Where was Slater shot?" Jim asked, hoping to latch onto some additional characteristic to aid in their search.

"Left shoulder." Hutch took a drink of his mineral water and leaned back in his chair. "God love the correctional system. They made sure he got all the PT he needed. You can't tell he was ever injured."

"It's unfortunate he ended up at Cabrillo State." Starsky shook his head. "They turned that into a maximum security looney bin a few years ago, since they had more than one scandal about their therapeutic techniques and the administration was eventually ousted. The problem is, you really shouldn't turn an existing building _into_ a high security complex. There're usually loopholes left over that any really clever psycho can figure out. It took Slater three years, but he figured it out. And he carved up a ward clerk to do it."

"Did Slater have any other known associates?"

"He used to do a little muscle work for a guy named Rudy Mantego. He's a fairly successful hood with a good deal of the drug trade on the West Coast. Good old Rudy has kept his nose clean since he moved up to Washington State from LA. I guess his parents came from here originally, and he gave his pals back in LA some hokey story about wanting to 'go home again' But he hasn't been arrested up here to our knowledge." Starsky got a confirming head shake from Jim."

"I'd remember a bust like that. He's been keeping a low profile. I was thinking we could cross-reference any of Slater's known associates with the listing I've developed of people who might want revenge against me for some reason."

"Well, if you haven't met up with Mantego, that pretty much leaves him off the list--probably a long one, I bet. I hope you're including your Covert Ops days and your stint in Vice. Some of those creeps have long memories."

"You checked me out before you came?" Jim asked, obviously annoyed.

"No more than you checked us out, right?" Hutch responded. 

"Touche," Blair interjected, back to eating his lunch now that the talk of mutilations had faded.

"My Covert Ops files are sealed. I can't access that material myself, nor would I be permitted to reveal any names I might remember. As for Vice, yeah, I included any of the busts I made while I was there. You're right--it's a long list."

"How about you, Blair? Any enemies? Disgruntled students?"

"Disgruntled students? Disgruntled enough to hire a serial killer to murder me?"

"Well, we have a disgruntled student who's a bit on the psycho side himself, maybe with some money behind him, who hires some muscle to deal with you." Starsky raised an eyebrow. "How about it?"

"I...I can't even think of anybody like that. I had a bad run-in with a couple of guys I flunked last year, but they were garden-variety bullies with no great wealth to back them up."

"How'd you deal with 'em?" Starsky paused in savoring a large slice of pizza long enough to ask the question.

"Well, I stood my ground, and one of them decided to show up at the loft and hassle me, and ended up slamming me into the wall. What he didn't know was that Jim was upstairs sleeping. I never saw anybody move as fast as he did when he spotted Jim heading down the stairs, looking positively homicidal. Unless it was Jim chasing him."

"You two live together?" Hutch clarified.

"Blair was living in a warehouse that ended up blown sky-high, so he moved in with me temporarily. About three years ago now," Jim explained, smiling more brightly at Blair than the younger man could remember seeing in a long time.

"Starsky and I have a house together in Bay City. It's a beachfront house. Pooling our resources we could afford it."

"How long have you lived there?" Blair asked.

"Seventeen years," Starsky replied, smiling. "We've added on to it and changed things around to suit us. It's really home now."

"You two probably have a lot easier time of it that we did. Coming out was out of the question in 1979," Hutch commented, shaking his head. "So we kept our own places for a while, then we played the whole swinging bachelor thing to the hilt with the new house."

"So when did you come out?" Blair asked, as Jim's mouth was still slightly agape from the admission that the two veteran detectives were not only a couple, but assumed that Jim and Blair were as well.

"We didn't, officially. We let people draw their own conclusions." Starsky chewed on his pizza and chased it with some root beer. "All 'coming out' means is explaining to people that you're having sex with each other. We never figured that was any of their business. You can't play smashface on the job anyway, and groping each other in the car can get you killed because you're too damned distracted to tend to business if something comes up."

"And it usually does in that setting," Hutch added quietly, smiling. He was rewarded with something neither of the men expected to see cross Starsky's face: an honest to God blush.

"Like I was saying," Starsky cleared his throat and took another drink of his root beer, "coming out really wasn't an option, because the first thing they'd have done is split up our partnership. Couples can't be partners."

"Captain Dobey operated on a don't ask, don't tell basis. Taylor is the same way. Plus, it isn't the issue now it was then. They couldn't fire us for it anyway." Hutch shrugged. "It would have been nice not to have to hide it. But it hasn't ruined our lives or anything. We just stay away from PD events where we're expected to show up with women. Or we go with a couple of accomplices who are just good friends and are willing to be fake dates for the evening."

"We, uh, haven't been...together very long. That way," Jim added awkwardly. He was more than delighted with the turn of events, because it gave them common ground and a sense of unity as a working team, and it took the pressure off Blair and himself to keep up appearances all the time. Still, it disconcerted him that they immediately assumed the two men were lovers because they lived together.

"If we made a wrong assumption here--"

"No," Jim cut Starsky off. "Not wrong. You just assumed we'd been together longer than we have."

"How long?" Starsky asked, curiosity piqued now.

"About 36 hours," Blair responded.

" _Hours_?" Hutch choked on his water.

"Since after the kidnapping," Jim added, finding Blair's hand under the table. The nimble fingers splayed to intertwine with Jim's.

"Sounds kind of familiar," Starsky commented, sitting back in his chair. "Sometimes it takes a disaster, unfortunately."

"We should get moving if everyone's done eating," Jim spoke up again, still holding onto Blair's hand. The younger man had his in a death grip. "We can stop by the hotel so you can dump your luggage before we head over to the station."

Still a little stunned by the lunchtime revelations, the four men headed for the Cascade Suites Hotel, where the visiting detectives accepted their suite keys and deposited their luggage. 

They arrived at the PD only marginally behind schedule to meet with Simon. Figuring treating their guests to lunch was an acceptable diversion, they didn't anticipate the captain being too upset about the delay. By the time they made it to the bullpen, they had introduced their visitors to Rafe and Brown in the garage. Megan was exiting Simon's office as they approached.

"You must be Ken Hutchinson," she said to the tall blond, extending her hand. "I attended a seminar last year on profiling serial killers. You were one of the panelists. Inspector Megan Conner."

"Nice to meet you, Inspector Conner," Hutch replied, shaking her hand and smiling as he cocked his head slightly. "Australian?"

"Yes. I came to the Cascade PD as part of the officer exchange program."

"And they wouldn't take her back," Jim added under his breath, annoyed at the hold up.

"Actually, I couldn't force myself to leave after having the opportunity to work with someone as charming as Detective Ellison."

"I can see the feeling's mutual," Starsky added, grinning. "Dave Starsky, Hutch's partner," he introduced himself and shook hands with Megan.

"You both work with a task force on serial killers now, is that right? It must be fascinating work."

"It's the dark side of homicide, if that makes sense, being there really isn't a light side," Starsky responded. "But it's pretty fascinating."

"I did enjoy that seminar very much, Detective Hutchinson."

"Please, call me Ken. I'm glad. I hope it provided some useful information."

"Oh, most definitely. I understand you two are going to be co-authoring a book in the near future."

"It's in the works, but with our schedules, it'll probably take a while." 

"I'll look forward to it. I won't hold you up any longer. It was a pleasure meeting you both."

"The pleasure was ours," Hutch spoke for both of them, just as Simon opened the door to his office. 

"Gentlemen?"

After another round of introductions, the five men sat around the conference table in Simon's office, exchanging information and ideas on the investigation. The slasher film angle was added to the line up of strategies for hunting Slater, as was the information on his shoulder wound, which didn't cause him noticeable problems, but would leave a scar behind.

Glossy photos of Slater's victims made the rounds along with their individual profiles. Engrossed in the meeting, Jim hadn't thought to filter anything before it reached Blair. The sharp intake of breath caught his attention as Blair's eyes fixed on the photo of the bloody corpse that had made its way to him.

"He told me about this one," he said in a strained voice. "He said he took a long time with her."

"Renee Olson. Probably the worst mutilation killing I've heard of since the Black Dahlia case," Starsky commented, almost shuddering himself. "The only thing he didn't do was the complete vivisection."

"Excuse me." Blair pushed away from the table and moved swiftly out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Starsky said, shaking his head. "I keep forgetting he isn't a cop."

"He'll be flattered by that," Jim said, smiling affectionately at the thought of how hard his partner worked at fitting in and being respected at the PD. "I'll go see if he's okay."

Jim hurried down the corridor, figuring there was only one place someone as white-green as Blair could have been headed. It didn't take long for the familiar heartbeat to come into focus, even though it was hammering at the moment. When Jim entered the rest room, Blair was holding onto either side of the sink, breathing heavily, his face still a little damp from the water he'd splashed there.

"How're you doin', Chief?" Jim came up behind him and slid an arm around his shoulders.

"So much for lunch," Blair managed, trying to settle the aftermath of the vomiting that was keeping his stomach tied in a knot.

"I'm sorry I didn't watch those photos more carefully. It just slipped my mind." Jim moved a hand down to very gently massage Blair's miserable stomach and midsection. "Come here." He pulled the smaller man into his arms and held on tightly. "Hang onto me. Try to relax, baby."

"I didn't mean to lose it like that."

"Those photos were pretty hideous. They made my pizza flip over a time or two," Jim said, smiling a little against Blair's hair. "Starsky apologized--he said he keeps forgetting you're not a cop."

"Like anybody ever forgets _that_ around here."

"He was genuine when he said it, Chief. Those guys have been around. You must be doin' okay if they're accepting you as part of the team so easily."

"I feel a little better," Blair backed away slightly, his hand going to his stomach.

"Still queasy?"

"I got a good kick right there, and when I threw up, God, it really hurt."

"You didn't throw up any blood or anything?" Jim was massaging the shoulders where his hands rested.

"No. I'm just sore. I'll be okay."

"Okay, Chief. Ready to go back in there?"

"I feel like an idiot."

"Blair, everyone in that room knows you went through a traumatic experience. That rattles a person. You're doing fine. You'll be okay. Nobody's critical of you for having a few rough spots."

"It's just...you know, how is anybody going to take me seriously in this thing if I puke the first time I see a crime scene photo?"

"They're going to take you seriously because of your contribution to the case, your brains and your analytical skills. And the fact that I'll kick their asses if they don't."

"That part I believe," Blair agreed, laughing a little.

"Come on. Let's go nail that bastard."

* * *

"Knowing you were with someone capable of doing this...that's gotta be enough to rattle ya," Starsky exhaled loudly and gathered up the grisly photos.

"Sandburg's come a long way in the last couple years. When he started working with Jim, he really couldn't handle the crime scenes too well." Simon smiled a little. "We have yet to get him all the way through an autopsy without losing his lunch."

" _I_ have yet to get all the way through an autopsy without losing my lunch," Hutch responded, laughing a little. "The solution is not to eat for several hours before you watch."

"The best solution is to wait for the coroner's report," Starsky corrected. "Must need a lotta data to ride with Ellison for goin' on three years," Starsky commented.

"You know how those grad students are." Simon laughed a bit uneasily.

"Only too well," Starsky replied, shooting a look at his partner. "I've had to put up with him through his Master's."

"You're next, Gordo."

"Not in this lifetime, pal," Starsky replied, smiling. "Eight years'a night classes for the B.A. was enough for me."

"Sorry about that," Blair apologized self-consciously as he slid into a chair at the table, followed by his partner, who set a styrofoam cup of water in front of the younger man.

"So Blair--have you got Ellison's list of possibles on computer?" Starsky asked.

"Yeah. I typed it in while he pulled the info out of the files. Why?"

"Let's do a little searching and see if any of these names match up." Starsky held up the large three-ring notebook of data they'd brought on Slater and his known associates.

"Okay." Relieved to be sprung from the meeting, Blair led the older detective out to Jim's desk. For a man in his early fifties, Dave Starsky was in good shape. With a solid but toned physique, a thick mop of dark brown curls that almost looked black, deep blue eyes and strong features split by the occasional dazzling smile, he was more than capable of turning a few female heads in the Major Crimes bullpen. 

"Black with sugar, right Detective Starsky?" Rhonda said sweetly as she arrived at Jim's desk with coffee for their guest. Blair couldn't remember Rhonda ever fetching coffee for anyone in the entire time he'd hung around the Cascade PD. 

"That's right. Thanks, Rhonda," Starsky accepted the drink with one of those smiles. Rhonda returned it and slipped back to her desk.

"You must go for blondes," Blair joked. To his relief, the other man laughed.

"Yeah, I guess. Although Inspector Conner isn't too hard on the eyes, either. I never saw a lady cop who looked like that before."

"Does your partner know you're scoping out the talent?"

"You didn't see him batting his big baby blues at Inspector Conner? Being in a committed relationship doesn't kill your hormones. Looking is okay. Touching is a hanging offense." Starsky opened the notebook and flipped through the pages.

"It's so weird. One of the things I was most worried about when we had to work with you guys is that something would happen that would tip you off about Jim and me."

"And you figured we'd be a couple of homophobic, cigar-smoking, beer swizzling, seedy old buzzards?"

"Who knew everything."

"I figured Ellison would be thrilled with us showing up. Local cops never like it when they think the hot shot experts are being called in because they can't handle things. That really isn't the purpose of the task force. Hutch went back to school to study psychology, and criminal profiling. I got my degree in criminology and also went through some extensive training in profiling and forensic science. I mean, when you get sick of rousting winos and driving up and down the street all day, but you still want to work together as partners, your options are sorta limited. So we built up strong credentials, and when the LAPD joined forces with a half-dozen other West Coast PD's to form the task force, we jumped at the chance."

"So what does the task force do?"

"Consulting work like this most of the time, and if there's a major case--another Ted Bundy, God forbid, or Green River Killer, we come together as a team and pool the resources of our departments as well as our collective intellect and training to hunt the bastard."

"So Slater was one of the task force's projects?"

"Yeah, he was the last big one we worked on."

"Guess we should check this stuff, huh?" Blair asked, calling up the information on the computer.

"Don't be too hard on yourself about what happened earlier. When I was a rookie, I considered tying a barf bag around my neck just so I'd have it handy."

"Thanks," Blair replied, laughing a little.

* * *

The meeting in Banks' office broke up soon after Starsky and Blair left for the computer. Jim felt a little tingle of jealousy dance up and down his spine when he spotted Blair at the computer, Starsky sitting close behind him, both men looking at the screen through glasses that had been donned for the close work. Starsky said something and Blair laughed, then a moment later, he was all gestures, obviously telling the older man a story about some remote culture somewhere. Starsky was a fascinated audience for whatever it was.

"I guess they're going to handle the computer work," Hutch spoke up, shaking Jim out of his thoughts. He wanted to demand from the other man some explanation for why his supposedly exclusive partner was so fucking friendly with the first sexy young man that crossed his path. "Ellison?"

"Yeah, looks that way."

"You want to show me the crime scene?"

"Huh?" Jim was watching his partner.

"The crack house. You know. Where you found Sandburg?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

"You're going to have to lengthen the leash a little," Hutch said quietly as Jim pulled out into the traffic.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, if looks could kill, I'd be missing a partner."

"Is he always like that?"

"Like what? Outgoing? Most of the time. He likes young people. He's younger at heart than most of them are. Maybe that's one of the things I love most about Starsk. He's never going to get old. Not really. His body might give out on him someday, but his spirit's going to kick time right in the ass til the end." Hutch smiled fondly. 

"Let's just keep this professional, huh?"

"You're safe, Ellison. We aren't here for a partner swap." There was a slightly icy edge in the blond's voice that matched the icy blue of his eyes. 

"Look, I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's probably not the ideal time to take on a major case right now for either one of you."

"No, but Slater has to be stopped. What do you expect to find here anyway?" Jim asked, pulling up in front of the dilapidated house.

"Something, anything. Probably nothing. But you weren't looking for Slater last time you were here."

"True." //I would have thought of that if my mind wasn't back on Blair and Starsky, or somewhere south of my belt thinking about what I'd rather be doing with Blair right now...// Jim shook his head, annoyed with himself.

Hutchinson lead the way to the front door, taking in the terrain around them. He was only marginally shorter than Jim, with a slimmer build, but the long, powerful legs of a runner. Both of these men were in great shape for their age, and obviously spent considerable time keeping fit. The older man reminded Jim of an iron fist in the velvet glove. The soft voice and gentle demeanor belied something hard, steely and tough that lurked just beneath the surface. And there was an element of polish that Jim remembered most often seeing among his father's snootier friends, despite Hutchinson's friendly, unpretentious demeanor. He came from money, and probably old money. Jim smiled to himself. //Takes one to know one.//

"There's something bothering me just a little. It was an inconsistency I found in one of the descriptions Blair recalled, and one of the murder profiles," Hutch explained, stopping to lean on the painted banister that led up the threadbare stairs.

"Blair was upset, he was recalling it from memory. He might have left something out. We had to approximate to some extent."

"Not really. Blair recounted four murder descriptions. Three of them were exact. To the word. He's very precise. Now, when we get to the murder of Irvin Marx, it departs in a couple of key ways. First, Marx was not murdered in a warehouse, nor was his body hung on a hook."

"But his throat was cut."

"True, but all we have is a male victim with a slit throat. You didn't happen to see that new slasher movie, 'Carnage at Hillside Park' did you?"

"As a rule, I try to avoid movies with the word 'carnage' in the title. Why?"

"One of the victims is killed in exactly the manner that Blair describes in the summary you've matched with Marx' murder. This was also the last description of a crime he relayed to Blair. I think he was describing what he _planned_ to do. See, the character in the movie--the murderer--is a maintenance man at an amusement park who spends his spare time slicing up sex-crazed teenagers--not terribly original, but standard slasher film fare."

"So you think Slater is holed up in some amusement park? It's a little late in the season for that."

"Precisely. What better place to hide? And in his fantasy world, he can still play that role. He just needs a victim." Hutch sighed. "Of course, he could have moved down the coast to LA where he could actually work in an amusement park this time of year."

"When did you come up with this?"

"On the ride over here. I knew there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Starsky dragged me to that ungodly waste of blank video tape a couple weeks ago. I knew Blair's description fit something perfectly, but it wasn't the Marx killing. He described three completed homicides to Blair, but the fourth one was a work in the planning stages."

"Then the next logical step is scouring every amusement park in the area."

"And checking with all the local employment agencies who've recently hired maintenance workers. He may have just taken on the occupation in a similar environment--like a warehouse or some other large complex."

"You still want to have a look around here?" Jim asked.

"Absolutely."

* * *

Starsky pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he and Blair sat in the break room, Blair eating a container of yogurt out of the machine while Starsky polished off a large chocolate bar.

"Not a single match so far."

"This really _sucks_ , man. I wonder if Jim and Hutch are doing any better?"

"I hope so."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask," Starsky responded, smiling. He genuinely liked this kid. Blair was smart, funny, well-traveled and he had guts. It was only on a rare moment like this one that Starsky felt a stab of old pain from a wound he thought had been healed by his life with Hutch. The memory of Terri, the woman with whom he would have had children had she not been murdered by a psychotic madman seeking revenge against him, rose unbidden from the back of his mind. Maybe she always lurked there anyway. Maybe they would have had a bright one like Blair--a teacher, just like Terri. 

"It's okay if you don't want to answer."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. My mind is a little mushy after all that computer work."

"I asked if you, uh, ever, you know, were interested in a guy before Hutch."

"No. Whether or not I was bisexual, I don't honestly know. I've tried to analyze that one for years now, until I finally decided I didn't care. I've always loved and appreciated beautiful women. I still do. But I also get turned on by Hutch, and I fell in love with my male partner. So does that make me bisexual? Maybe by definition."

"I was never into labels. I never really had anything against men being with men if that's what they wanted. And I've appreciated a good looking man before I met Jim. But I never wanted one in my bed before. Sometimes..." Blair shook his head.

"It scares the shit out of you?" Starsky asked frankly. Blair nodded. "That's understandable. Jim doesn't seem like he'd push you where you don't want to go."

"No, never. I mean, I love him. And I want him. But what does that mean? I never did it with a guy. What if I hate it?"

"You're gonna love it and hate it. I can't really lie to ya--the first time you're on the receiving end, it's gonna hurt and you'll find lots of reasons to stand for a few days. But it gets easier. And there's nothin' like that closeness." Starsky let out a long breath. "The first time we tried anything in bed, we were so lousy at it that we were about ready to throw in the towel and forget it. But I took one look at Hutch...and I knew it was worth the effort to make it work. It'll work for you and Jim, too."

"You think? I just feel like it's going to ruin his life."

"If he doesn't want to pay the fiddler, he won't dance. He knows there are consequences for your actions in this life. You don't have to protect him from that." Starsky paused while another cop walked in, snagged a candy bar, exchanged greetings with them and then left the room again. "Going against the flow is never easy. But it's usually a hell of a lot more rewarding."

"I know I'm really out of line asking you about stuff like this."

"I volunteered most of it." Starsky took another bite of his candy bar. "You eat like Hutch."

"That's not all bad. Your partner seems to have a real grasp of good nutrition."

"I read somewhere that all that eating right only makes you live about three months longer anyway."

"I guess it's just a habit. My mom was into health food and natural foods, keeping impurities out of your body. Well, at least the kinds that come from unhealthy eating anyway," Blair amended, smiling. "I really appreciate your openness. You know, I have a couple friends I know are gay, but, they're not like, close friends. Friends you talk about sex with."

"You mean friends you talk _honestly_ about sex with."

"Exactly," Blair added, laughing.

"Don't be afraid of it, Blair. It's new and it's weird at first, and it's scarier than hell not being in control, not knowing what you're doing exactly or what to expect when you're used to being experienced in bed. But if you're with somebody you love, it works out. Jim'll take care of you. He'll be careful, just like you will be with him. Just like Hutch and I were the first...seven or eight times we tried to get it right." Starsky laughed then, remembering how many hopelessly awkward and mutually disappointing experiments they had engaged in during the first days of their new relationship. "If all else fails, jerk each other off and go to sleep and forget about it. Try again when you feel like it." Starsky smiled at the crimson face that was regarding him with a mixture of shock and fascination. //Didn't this kid's father ever sit him down and have _that talk_ with him?// Starsky wondered. //Of course they probably didn't cover anal sex with other men.//

"It seems so weird. I haven't been nervous about sex since I was, like, sixteen." Blair smiled a little at the memory. "See, I went to college early, and there was this girl there--"

"Ah, the older woman," Starsky interjected, nodding with a grin.

"Yeah. She was all of 20, I think. I was a virgin. She got real turned on by that. I was real turned on by her. Between the two of us, we had a pretty hot time. But since then, I haven't really had the jitters about going to bed with somebody. Besides the usual things you worry about if you really like the person--whether or not everything's gonna go well and they're gonna like you and if your deodorant holds out--stuff like that."

"Kind of puts you back to square one, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"What?"

"You want to say something else."

"What if all this is nothing more than Jim being glad I'm okay, and he loves me but when we try having sex it's a disaster?"

"It won't be."

"I wish I were that confident."

"I had the same feelings when Hutch and I started out. Those jitters don't go away until you try something. We got together after I was almost killed in a shooting. It was a paid hit, and I took three bullets, right like this," Starsky explained, indicating a diagonal line across his chest and abdomen. "It almost killed Hutch. I was in ICU a long time, my heart stopped once. We had been at odds with each other over a lot of trivial shit in the past several months, so when this happened, Hutch was all ready to sink into a major guilt trip. They always say Jews are good with guilt. He's got it down to an art form."

"I'm Jewish--well, I had a Bar Mitzvah. My mom's family was Jewish, but she doesn't really practice it. The Bar Mitzvah was my cousins' idea."

"You don't practice either?"

"No, not really. I don't believe in institutionalized religion--I think it's more spiritual than that. Sorry to interrupt--what happened with you and Hutch?"

"My recovery period was hell. We didn't think I'd ever make it back to the streets. I couldn't eat much of anything for a long time, I needed physical therapy to move normally again, and then there was all that time spent rebuilding my strength. It took about a year to get back to work, and probably two or three before I felt 100% again. I don't know if you ever feel 100% after someone tosses your guts around that way, but I felt good again."

"So that made Hutch realize he loved you?"

"It made us both decide to quit playing games with each other and really look at our relationship. We've been together 18 years, Blair--with no end in sight. So just because Jim's feelings were kick-started by the kidnapping doesn't invalidate them."

"This must be the weirdest consulting job you've ever gone on. First day here and you're talking about sex with a total stranger."

"Beats analyzing demographic data." Starsky smiled with that devilish gleam in his eyes. Blair had to laugh. "Just don't rush things. It'll happen when it's meant to." He yawned and stretched in the chair until his joints snapped. 

"Tired from the flight?" Blair asked.

"Yes and no. We were wrapping up a case in Bay City, and we stayed at the PD finishing the paperwork until about three in the morning. I used to function better on two hours of sleep than I do now." 

"Sounds like my schedule."

"How do handle all the University work and still spend so much time with Jim?"

"I don't sleep any more than I have to, let's put it that way," Blair responded, laughing.

"So how close are you to having your Ph.D.?"

"Close. I'm in the draft stage with my dissertation right now."

"Wow. Getting through my bachelor's was a real trick with working full time. That's pretty impressive. You started at 16?"

"Yeah. I traveled a lot, took my time with the undergrad part of my education. Took some extra classes."

"You're what, 25, 26 now?"

"Twenty-nine, actually."

"Still, that's a lot to accomplish before the big 3-0."

"I've always been a science nerd at heart, so I've pretty much devoted my life to it. I really like working with Jim though. It's way different, but it's fascinating." Blair laughed. "Plus it's probably my only chance to rebel against my mom. Every kid should have that experience once."

"Working with the cops didn't set well with her?"

"Not 'cops', _pigs_. My mom was a protester in the 60s. She was into the whole flower child scene."

"That makes sense that she wouldn't be too fond of cops then. How about your dad?"

"My mom's single. She never married." 

"Single moms have a real battle on their hands. My mother had to raise two boys mostly on her own. My father was killed in the line of duty when I was a kid. So she raised my younger brother and me, and I finally came out to LA to live with relatives when I was a teenager."

"I'm sorry...about your dad, I mean. How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"That's rough."

"I've got some good memories though. He was a good man."

"That's good," Blair responded, a slightly distant look crossing his features. Before Starsky could say anything else, the door opened, and the two men's partners entered the room.

"We might have a lead," Jim announced, pulling up a chair near Blair. Hutch snagged a chair and sat next to his partner, eyeing the candy wrapper with disapproving eyes. 

* * *

It was almost eight o'clock when Jim and Blair invited their two guests to a home-cooked dinner at the loft. They had spent all afternoon trudging to two closed amusement parks, and several large businesses with their own maintenance staffs. Only three had recently added new hires, and none of them had looked promising.

"Nice car," Starsky commented casually as he passed the small, green Volvo parked in the lot behind the apartment building as the four men got out of the borrowed police sedan and started toward the entrance. "Must be a '67, '68," he commented.

"1968. It's mine," Blair spoke up, a little bit of pride in his voice.

"You like vintage cars? How about Ford Torinos?"

"My last car was a '62 Corvair," Blair responded. "I can't place the Torino...wasn't it a bigger one--like a sedan or something?"

"Oooh," Hutch gasped out, hitting his chest with his fist. "Yeah, Starsk, tell him about that big old sedan you keep in the garage while you park the new Firebird out in the driveway."

"There were four-door models, but this is a 1974 Gran Torino. Candy apple red with a white stripe--the stripe is shaped kind of like a giant Nike swoosh, right down the side of the car." Starsky's eyes were lit up like a proud parent. "And the engine--"

"I remember those cars. Real muscle cars," Jim added, leading the way through the entrance to the building and punching the elevator button. "My cousin had a '76, I think. You could have wallpapered his room with speeding tickets. My uncle finally took his keys away."

"It wasn't a Sunday driver kind of car," Starsky agreed, shaking his head.

"I figured when the engine died, we could give the thing a decent burial, but NO."

"People who drive fifteen-year-old squashmobiles shouldn't talk about burying other people's cars."

"At least mine runs."

"Barely," Starsky countered. "Mine'll run too after I finish working on the engine."

"Probably get you to the auto parts store and back, provided you don't go over 35."

"It's a work in progress," Starsky defended.

"This is really an interesting place," Hutch commented as they walked into the apartment. Taking in the high ceiling, open loft bedroom above and the view of the water, he nodded with obvious approval. 

"We like it," Jim replied, hanging up the coats on hooks near the door. "How about beer?"

"Count me in," Starsky spoke up from where he was examining one of Blair's souvenirs on the shelves near the stairs. "This is really beautiful," he commented, turning a small, lidded jar in what were surprisingly graceful hands. "It's...Mayan, right?"

"Yeah--how'd you know?" Blair smiled, pleased to have found yet more common ground with the detective he'd come to think of as a good friend in just a matter of hours.

"I love Indian and Southwestern art. I once spent a summer on an Indian reservation in the mountains back in the late 60's."

"I never would have guessed that."

"Well, it was a long time ago."

"That was a gift from one of my professors--a mentor of mine, really. Dr. Stoddard. He found it at an auction, wildly underpriced, and he gave it to me, since at the time I didn't have much of anything in the line of worthwhile artifacts. I was always ogling his trinkets like a kid in a candy store. I have a handmade wall hanging in my room you might like, if you want to take a look."

"Sure." Starsky and Blair passed Jim and Hutch where they were talking over the case, still standing in the kitchen.

"I guess we could take the load off," Jim suggested, heading into the living room. 

"I really thought this lead was going to pan out," Hutch said through a yawn. "Sorry. Two hours' sleep last night."

"I was thinking we could just toss some steaks on the grill if that's all right."

"Sounds great. Beats take-outs again." Hutch spotted Blair's acoustic guitar sitting in the yellow chair near the window. "You play?" he nodded toward it.

"No," Jim responded, laughing a little. "It's Sandburg's. Ask him about his mom's guitar later. He loves to show that off."

"His _mom's_ guitar?" Hutch raised his eyebrows.

"Naomi isn't your average mom type. She managed to get a guitar autographed by Jimi Hendrix. She was into the whole hippie-flower child scene in the 60's."

"That has to be worth a piece of change. I hope he doesn't show it off too much."

"More than he should, probably." Jim took another drink of his beer. "Do you play the guitar?"

"Yes. I think I probably would have pursued music if my old man hadn't considered it a waste of time. I was told I was majoring in business when I went to college. I didn't have the balls to tell him what he could do with his tuition money."

"Music is a hard business to make money at." Jim exhaled loudly. "I had a set of drums for one summer. I got pretty good."

"For one summer?"

"Yeah. My dad spent a summer in Europe when I was fifteen. It was just my brother, Stephen, and Sally, our housekeeper, and me. She didn't mind the racket, so I spent most of the summer practicing. They lasted a week after my dad got back. I went to school one day and came home and they were gone."

"Couldn't handle the racket, huh?"

"Nope. So that was the extent of my musical career. If you want to play, go ahead. Blair never minds if somebody wants to play it."

"Maybe another night. I'm not sure my brain and my fingers are communicating anymore today. You're from Cascade originally then?"

"Born and raised. I was gone for a few years for the military, but I've been here most of my life."

"I'm from Minnesota originally. I've been in LA since the late 60's."

"What made you go into profiling?"

"Well, neither Starsky nor I are cut out for desk jobs, so we had to find some way to stay in the action when all the guys our age were ducking out for desk assignments and promotions that took them off the streets. Plus, rousting the nickel and dime hustlers gets a little tired after you've done it for 20 years. So we got some more education under our belts and some specific training from the FBI in criminal profiling. I do a little seminar work once in a while. Brings in some extra money. And when we get called out on cases like this, it gives us a chance to travel, work with other departments."

"When'd you get paired up with Starsky?"

"We met in the Academy, but went through the whole rookie routine with different partners. As soon as we got the chance to move up to detective status, we worked on getting assigned as partners. Starsky was first, then he requested me, and a mentor of mine, Luke Huntley, had enough pull to make sure I got to work with him."

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from three. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part four  
by Candy Apple

"Beautiful. There's nothing like the authentic, handmade stuff," Starsky opined, examining the wall hanging. Stepping back, he glanced around the cluttered but interesting little room. His eyes fixed on a photo. "Who's that?" he asked, moving closer to it where it sat on the shelf.

"That's my mom. And me--I was 3 or 4 I think." Blair squinted at the photo himself. 

"I met your mom at a music festival...back in '68," Starsky responded, looking up to have eye contact with Blair. 

"Seriously?" Blair's eyes widened, and there was a little smile creeping across his face.

"Yeah." Starsky stared at the photo, shaking his head. "I lost her in the crowd...there was so much...pandemonium there." He sat on the edge of Blair's bed, still holding the framed photo. "We spent two days together...and then, just like that, it was over." There was a distinct sense of loss in those words. "I had no idea where to look for her. All I had was the name Sunflower, which I knew couldn't be any person's serious real first name."

"Sunflower?" Blair asked, eyebrows raised.

"Blair, nobody was feeling a lot of pain there. It was either booze or dope, but nobody was thinking straight. She was a little spacey, and when I asked her for her name, she said Sunflower. And then giggled uncontrollably. I'm not sure what she was on, but she was in a good mood." Starsky looked up from the photo. "Oh, wow. I'm really sorry to talk about your mother that way. I don't mean any disrespect to her. I just mean that everyone was--"

"It's okay. I know my mom was into the 60's counterculture up to her neck." Blair sat on the foot of the bed, not far from where Starsky still examined the photo. "She's still traveling a lot." Blair smiled. "She doesn't stay in one spot for long."

"I couldn't even begin to figure out where to look for her. I asked around a few communes, but I didn't fit in all that well. I mean, I had short hair--a lot shorter than it is now," Starsky's eyes flicked up to the unruly mop of dark curls on his head that stopped at his collar, "I didn't dress like a hippie... I ended up at the festival because I knew it was something big, and I loved the music. I was already in the police academy out here in LA. My cousin was working security at the event. The way I really got Sunflower's attention was that I could get her through security to Hendrix's dressing room."

"Seriously? Oh, man, then you've gotta see this!" Blair dove under his bed and dragged out a guitar case, which he opened to remove a white electric guitar. "Check the back of it." He handed it to Starsky.

"She didn't have this while I was with her. She must've gotten backstage again, or gone to see him somewhere else. This is a real treasure, Blair."

"I still can't believe she gave it to me."

"Do you play?"

"A little. I'm better on the acoustic guitar, though."

"I play guitar too. So does Hutch. He has the most amazing voice," Starsky opined, smiling fondly about his partner.

"I never would've pictured you guys as musicians," Blair commented honestly, sitting on the foot of the bed again. 

"We never did anything professional, and Hutch is better at it than I am. I just like to fool around with it a little."

"So that was it? You never saw her again? How'd you get split up?"

"It was during one of the shows. I don't honestly remember who was playing. But there was this fight between a couple of guys, and it was getting ugly, so I went to help the security guy who was trying to break it up. I was almost through the academy, so I felt I had some responsibility as an almost-cop to do something. I was a little smashed--I'd been drinking most of the afternoon--but I still knew a bad fight when I saw it, so I tried to help. We got the two guys split up, and sent them on their way. I looked around for Sunflower, but she wasn't there. I really hunted for her--everywhere. But it was a sea of people. There were so many girls with long, straight hair and love beads that it would be impossible for me to have found her by just looking around. I hoped maybe she'd come looking for me, but she never did. Or maybe she did and couldn't find me. The campgrounds were a mess, too, but she knew where my tent was."

"How?" Blair asked, not really meaning to be that blunt, but still wondering if this man who had known his mother for all of two days had also been one of her lovers.

"We met the first day, and we spent the night together. Blair, you have to understand, the whole atmosphere there--you did things you wouldn't normally do and--"

"You don't have to explain. I'm an _anthropologist_ , Starsky. I study culture and behavior patterns and social phenomena. I've read about the hippie movement. I understand." Blair shrugged. "I wouldn't be shocked by that anyway," he said quietly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning my mom dates a lot of different guys, and she never commits to one--at least not for long. She's a free spirit. No strings."

"I hate to break up the party in here, but the steaks are almost done," Jim said, poking his head in the doorway of Blair's room.

The four men shared a tasty meal, the conversation moving from new ideas on pursuing the case to classic cars, music, politics and the general meaning of life. After relaxing a while when the meal was finished, Hutch stood up and with thank-yous for the meal, said his goodbyes. Starsky joined him in the thanks and accepted the keys to the police sedan from Jim so they could return to their hotel. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Blair asked, starting to clear the table. "You were expecting this to be a disaster."

"You certainly were enjoying yourself with Starsky," Jim responded, a definite edge in his voice. Blair, somewhat preoccupied, registered the words but not the snippy tone.

"I like him. We had a good talk this afternoon." Blair rinsed a few plates and put them in the rack by the sink. "It was interesting to talk to someone else who's been in the spot we're in now."

"Which is?" Jim probed, still not moving very far beyond the jealousy he felt at Blair's instant liking of the other detective. It wasn't that he really suspected anything inappropriate about it. Maybe it was just seeing Blair so taken with another aging cop that made Jim feel like maybe the kid was suffering some sort of hero-worshiping complex, or God forbid, wanted a male role model, instead of a lover. Maybe anyone could be plugged into Jim's role in Blair's life and end up his lover...

"You know, just starting out together. As a couple."

"He talked to you about that?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, who else am I gonna talk to about it?"

"Me, for starters. I'm the one you're sleeping with."

"You're _jealous_?" Blair turned around from the sink, his expression stunned.

"No, I'm not jealous. I just found it a little odd that you two were suddenly long lost buddies. You seemed to get awfully cozy, awfully fast."

"He knew my mom."

"You didn't know that until tonight."

"You were _eavesdropping_?" 

"Not intentionally. Give me a break here, Chief. I have heightened hearing and I was in the kitchen grilling steaks. I probably would have heard you if I _didn't_ have heightened senses."

"Hutch didn't hear us."

"He was talking."

"So if you had been listening to him instead of tuning into what I _thought_ was a private conversation, you wouldn't have heard us."

"What's the big deal, Blair? I didn't hear anything you weren't going to tell me anyway."

"That's not the point and you know it." Blair shook his head. "It's a matter of trust. Respecting my privacy."

"Okay, I was sick of seeing you pair off with that guy and look at him like he was Superman! If that makes me jealous, then fine, I'm fucking jealous! Is that what you want to hear?"

"What's _wrong_ with you, man? I've never slept with a man before. Why would you think I'd suddenly be lining up a new lover because I was friendly with Starsky?" Blair sighed. "What kind of a whore do you think I am? We're just starting to discover what's between us, and I go off and have a quick fuck with some guy from LA just to see what it's like? Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence in my character."

"This isn't about you," Jim responded quietly.

"Like hell. Who's it about then? Starsky? You think he dragged me into the nearest rest room and groped me while you were out with his partner? What were you and Hutch doing all day together? Getting a motel room?"

"You don't have to make fun of me here, Sandburg."

"You don't have to insult me by suspecting me of screwing around behind your back when we haven't even _done_ anything yet!" Blair shouted back, his anger building.

"I didn't necessarily think you were screwing around."

"Then what?!" Blair demanded, throwing the dish towel he'd been holding on the counter.

"I don't know. I can't explain it. I just...didn't like it." Jim sat at the table, pushing a dirty plate out of the way to rest his arm there.

"There has to be a reason," Blair pressed, his tone softening a little as his angered cooled.

"It was...the way you... _took_ to him." Jim let out a long breath. "Like you don't even know I'm in the room when he's there," he mumbled.

Blair stood by the counter, shocked into silence. Not only was he shocked that Jim would make such an admission, but also by the fact that Jim had probably been more insecure all this time than Blair had about their relationship and its lasting power. Had he always lived with the worry that Blair would just walk away someday?

"I _always_ know when you're in the room, Jim." Blair moved over to sit at the table, then tentatively reached out and took Jim's hand in his. "I love you. Nobody could ever 'step in' for you with me. You're the one I want. I like Starsky a lot. He's smart, he's funny, and we have some things in common. But I don't feel the things I feel when I'm with you, with him."

"Such as?" Jim prodded.

"You're gonna make me work for this, aren't you?" Blair asked, grinning.

"Absolutely," Jim said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward briefly.

"Well," Blair began, stroking the back of Jim's hand with his thumb, his face serious now, "I don't feel like my whole world would collapse without him, and I don't feel like my whole world is made right just because he looks at me the right way. He doesn't make my heart flip over just by smiling at me."

"Come here," Jim held out his arms, and Blair grinned, straddling his partner's lap and wrapping his arms around Jim's neck. "I'm sorry I acted like such a jerk," he whispered into a ringed ear, and then proceeded to kiss it and nibble on the lobe.

"I love you, man. You know that. But you've got to cut me a little slack here. I'm going to be meeting people all my life, and I might like some of them."

"I know," Jim responded, chuckling a little. "Maybe it's the timing. Maybe I thought you just had a thing for old cops."

"You're a good ten years younger than Starsky." Blair pulled back to look at Jim.

"Thirteen," Jim replied, deadpan.

"But who's counting, huh?" Blair laughed, hugging Jim tightly. "Are you always gonna be this jealous?" Blair asked against Jim's neck.

"Probably, because you're the most precious treasure in my life, and I don't want to give you up to anybody else."

"I can live with that," Blair responded, his voice strained, as he pulled back to look into Jim's eyes. "There isn't going to be anybody else you ever have _good reason_ to be jealous of. Nobody's in your league as far as I'm concerned." Blair leaned in for a kiss, and the two men spent long moments exploring each other's mouths before pulling back for air. "Did you pick up on anything about him that made you think he was interested in me that way? I didn't get that at all. It was more like...like what talking to my dad might have been like."

"No, I didn't pick up on anything. I'm sorry I acted like a jealous asshole before."

"That's okay. I love you anyway. You're _my_ jealous asshole." Blair smiled sweetly, and Jim laughed.

"What am I gonna do with you, Chief?"

"I dunno. But I've got a few suggestions."

* * *

"So what'd you think of Ellison?" Starsky called in to his partner, who was still completing his evening ablutions in the bathroom. The dark-haired man was occupying his time reading in bed, going over the case history on Slater from the mental hospital where he'd been residing for the last three years.

"He's good. I honestly couldn't find anything in that house he hadn't already spotted or investigated. He seems to know his stuff."

"Blair's a good kid. I'm glad he made it out of Slater's hands in one piece."

"I think you were giving Ellison a few tense moments hanging around his boyfriend so much today."

"I'm sure he'll be up nights worrying about it," Starsky retorted, setting the report aside and massaging the ache between his eyes. He tossed his glasses on top of the folder and slid down in the bed. "You gonna be all night in there, Blondie?" Starsky had no sooner finished the statement when his partner came out of the bathroom in his white terry cloth robe, smelling like soap and a little trace of the aftershave he knew Starsky liked best. Even after all those years of being together, Hutch could still get Starsky's heart beating double time just by walking into a room with the right look in his cool blue eyes.

"Sleepy?" he asked, climbing up on the bed and stretching out on his side to face Starsky, propping himself up on one elbow. One long finger traced the line down the center of Starsky's chest until it ran into the waistband of his briefs. It hooked in the waistband and ran a teasing tip along the soft skin beneath.

"Early call tomorrow, babe." Starsky reached over and ran his fingers into the fine gold hair. That was always his mistake, and this night was no different. 

"Okay, Starsk, if you're not in the mood," Hutch said coolly, reaching over to turn out the light. As soon as the room was in shadows, Starsky pounced. Lying on top of his partner, supporting his weight on his elbows while he slid both hands into Hutch's hair, he dove down to capture that full, perfectly shaped mouth. When he drew back, he rested his forehead against Hutch's. 

"I don't think I told you today that I loved you."

"There's a black mark in my day planner, you thoughtless bastard," Hutch quipped, winding his arms around Starsky's firm middle. The blond laughed then, and Starsky grinned, still occasionally caught off guard by his partner's straight-faced jokes.

"Guess I have a lotta work t'do makin' it up to you, huh, blintz?" Swooping down to Hutch's smooth throat, he began work on a large passion mark.

"Do you mind not doing your Nadasy routine, babe? I don't want to walk all over the Cascade PD with a giant hickey on my neck."

"It's a _passion mark_. You get hickeys in the back seat with your girlfriend when you're sixteen." Starsky licked at the pinkish mark that he'd abandoned before it became a flaming beacon on Hutch's fair skin. He started kissing his way down the smooth chest, then paused. "You're not going to be leaving these hanging out tomorrow are you?" he teased, pulling Hutch's robe aside to expose a nipple.

"Smart ass." Hutch smiled and ran his fingers through Starsky's curls, twining them in the springy hair and holding his lover's dark head right where he wanted it as the other man tortured the little protrusion with lips and tongue.

"Wanted you all day," Starsky admitted, a little breathless as he moved to the other nipple, pushing the pesky bathrobe out of the way.

"You're overdressed, babe," Hutch objected, reaching up to push the robe off Starsky's shoulders. The other man dispensed with the garment and his briefs, straddling Hutch again in all his naked glory. Starsky was his other half in every sense. They were even perfect physical opposites, Hutch being blond, his chest smooth and hairless. Starsky was all dark curls--both on his head, dusted across his chest and belly, and gathering densely at the base of an impressive cock that was already at half mast. It's counterpart, nested among golden curls, nudged at Starsky's thigh. "Want to be inside you," Hutch whispered, running his hands up downy thighs.

"Oh yeah." Starsky found his discarded robe on the empty side of the bed and retrieved the lube from the pocket. 

"Do yourself," Hutch instructed. Starsky smiled wickedly. He knew the only thing that got to Hutch faster than feeling all that tight pressure around his cock was watching Starsky get himself ready. Demon that he was, Starsky always took his time preparing himself as if he were tight as a virgin. By the time he spread a film of the gel over Hutch's length, the other man was breathing heavily, little drops leaking from his straining shaft. 

And then Hutch was engulfed in that hot tunnel in one smooth slide. Starsky's rounded cheeks were pressed to his lover's groin, and he was almost immediately in motion atop Hutch, rocking his hips in rhythm with the other man's thrusts.

"Oh, God..." Hutch groaned, grabbing Starsky's offered hands and lacing their fingers together as his lover rode him hard, driving his cock in deep. Starsky's head was thrown back, his face a mask of straining passion, little grunts coming out in time with their sex.

"Ugh, come on, babe, give it to me," Starsky ground out, moving faster still. Hutch answered him with wild thrusts that raised the blond's hips off the mattress and sent vibrations through his lover's entire body. "Yeah... Ooooh, yeah, I'm comin', babe," Starsky panted, writhing impossibly faster as Hutch yanked one of his hands free to start pumping Starsky's weeping shaft. "Hard...come on!" he goaded Hutch again, letting out his final howl of pleasure as Hutch obliged the request, nailing Starsky's prostate with a series of rapid-fire strokes.

As Starsky was coming down from his climax, he rode out the sharp strokes from below, until Hutch stiffened and filled his lover, calling out Starsky's name. The impaled man fell forward on his partner's chest, their hearts thundering together as they soothed each other through the after shocks. 

"Love you," Hutch managed, rubbing Starsky's back and finding enough energy for a fiery kiss.

"Love you, too, Blondie," Starsky responded, smiling with pure adoration down at his life partner. "You're so beautiful," he said, pushing a few sweaty strands of hair off Hutch's forehead.

"Not as beautiful as you, babe."

"Close though," Starsky replied, grinning a little as he lay atop Hutch, feeling the other man's arms close tightly around him. 

"Call it a tie?" Hutch said sleepily as Starsky shifted to let Hutch's spent cock slip free of his well-loved passage.

"Works for me." Both men fumbled around with the corner of one of the robes to clean themselves off haphazardly before pulling up the covers and snuggling together for a decent night's sleep. The next day would probably be a long one.

//So why can't I shut down my brain and sleep?// Starsky asked himself. He hadn't given "Sunflower" much thought in the last twenty years. Losing her as quickly and effortlessly as he'd found her had hurt at the time. For those two days--and one glorious night--they were together, he'd foolishly thought it was something meaningful. Maybe his mother had been right when she'd warned him to stay away from those drugged up hippie girls. He found himself almost snorting a laugh, but refrained. Hutch was as light a sleeper as Starsky was a heavy one.

//I never even asked Blair for her right name. But what difference does it really make now? Our lives aren't connected in any way. She's off doing her thing, and I'm in a lifetime partnership. One I wouldn't trade for all the women on earth.// Starsky sighed, and Hutch started stirring. By unconscious mutual agreement and years of coordination, Hutch rolled over on his side and Starsky spooned up behind him, draping an arm over Hutch's body, keeping them close. His languid cock was nestled between Hutch's cheeks, and Starsky grinned evilly as he thought of just the right way to wake his partner in the morning.

* * *

Blair looked at the clock for what felt like the millionth time. It had only moved ahead thirty minutes. The large body that was spooned around him shifted a little. Jim was sleeping, but even in that state, he sensed Blair's restlessness. Blair knew he'd hate himself in the morning, when the alarm went off and he'd had all of two hours' sleep. Still, every time he closed his eyes, he imagined how easily Slater could slip in downstairs, make his way stealthily up to the loft bedroom, and carry out his threats. Jim was a sentinel but he was tired, and sleeping soundly. To assume the man could hear everything at all times was nothing short of ridiculous. They could both end up dead in their bed.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jim tightened his hold on the smaller body.

"Can't sleep."

"You feel okay?"

"Yeah."

"Back hurting?"

"A little, but it's not that."

"How about a back rub with some of that lotion and you tell me what it is, huh?"

"You need your sleep, love. I'm okay."

"I'm not going to roll over and go back to sleep while you're staring at the clock." Jim kissed Blair's shoulder and got up, moving stealthily down the steps to get the lotion. 

"Jim?"

"What, Chief?" he called up from the foot of the stairs.

"Um, everything look okay down there?"

"Yeah..." Jim sounded completely puzzled for a moment, then realization seemed to dawn. "I'll double check and make sure we've got everything locked. Be right up."

Blair slumped back down on the bed and curled up around a pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing his mind would close down for a little while. Talking about Slater's depravity so extensively just drove the point home to him how much danger he'd been in, and how close he'd come to dying an unspeakable death. As it was, dying of starvation an dehydration was a gruesome way out too. 

"Stretch out on your belly, Chief," Jim instructed, reaching down to gently pat the flat stomach as he moved past Blair.

"You should get some sleep. I'm serious, man. I'll go downstairs."

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart. Just relax. Probably be a good idea to take the t-shirt off too." Blair obliged and shifted onto his stomach. "The bruises and the marks have faded quite a bit," Jim commented, warming the lotion in his hands before working it into Blair's skin.

"I keep forgetting you don't need the lights to see that." There was a trace of a smile in Blair's voice.

"Got a case of the night jitters, Chief?" Jim asked gently. He didn't wait for an answer. "It's pretty understandable after we spent so much time today analyzing Slater's crimes."

"I know I shouldn't be, but I'm still scared. I keep thinking he's going to come after me."

"That would be a fatal mistake on his part," Jim responded calmly, leaning forward to kiss Blair's cheek. Then he whispered in the nearby ear, "Anybody looking for you has to go through me first."

"I know. I just... I guess it's knowing he was right there, waving that knife around...that he really wanted to do the things he said he'd do."

"We'll get him, sweetheart. It's just going to take a little time."

"That feels _so_ good," Blair muttered through a yawn.

"Good. Close your eyes, baby. Go on. I'm right here."

"Jim? If you were sleeping, and somebody tried to--"

"If Slater or anyone else tries to break in here or comes within a ten mile radius of you with any malicious intent, I'll know it. It's safe to go to sleep."

"I was afraid to close my eyes when he was around. I was scared he'd do something to me while I was asleep...or that I'd make noise and he'd..." Blair shivered, and Jim could see how hard the younger man was working at keeping his composure.

"It's okay to be afraid, sweetheart. He's a psycho, Blair. It's not strange you'd be shaken up after being around him so long."

"I was so damn scared, man," Blair forced out past the constriction in his throat. He felt Jim carefully finish up with the lotion, and turned to sit up and pull his t-shirt back on again. When it was in place, Jim set the lotion aside and pulled Blair into his arms, settling them both back under the covers. "I didn't want to die like that," he said softly. 

"I know, baby. I know." Jim caressed the curls pressed against his shoulder and kissed the top of Blair's head. 

"I was afraid to sleep. I can't make myself relax and close my eyes because I keep expecting to open them and he'll just...be there. He did that to me. I'd doze off and when I'd wake up, sometimes he'd just be...sitting there, watching me, smiling. The ski mask made it distorted, but it was still scary. He had the worst eyes, Jim. Cold, dead eyes." Blair moved impossibly closer, trying to crawl inside Jim's skin where he'd feel protected. The large arms tightened around him.

"Trust me, Blair. You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you. I might go to sleep, but I'll still hear anything out of place. You want a light on?"

"That's dumb."

"Not if it makes you feel better. The dark's still a little scary, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Blair admitted quietly.

"Okay. I'll turn on the lamp on the dresser." Jim got up again, turned on the small lamp, then pulled one of his t-shirts out of the drawer and draped it over the shade, leaving the room with just enough dim light to dispel the shadows. "Better?"

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't apologize, Chief. Just tell me if this is going to help," Jim said gently.

"A lot."

"Okay." Jim smiled as he headed back to bed and gathered Blair back into a tight embrace. 

"I'm sorry...earlier...nothing happened." Blair felt his face flush at the thought of their aborted attempt at making love. It wasn't the right night for Blair, who wanted nothing more than to be held and comforted, and it hadn't been much better for Jim, who was about as preoccupied with the current case as he had ever been with any in his career before. A psychotic killer was loose somewhere, probably still in the area. It wouldn't be long before someone paid the price for the Cascade PD's inability to find him.

"It'll happen when it's time, baby. We were pushing it a little."

"Sometimes...I love you so much it hurts," Blair whispered, feeling his eyes finally drift shut in the warmth and safety of Jim's embrace.

"I know the feeling, Chief. I love you too. Now go to sleep. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm keeping watch."

"You need sleep too."

"I'll sleep. Don't worry about it. You know what'll put me to sleep? Hearing that steady even heartbeat of yours when _you're_ asleep."

"You really know how to push the right buttons, doncha?" Blair slurred as he felt himself drifting and finally letting go.

"I try, baby," Jim replied quietly, letting his own eyes close as Blair shifted a little, snuggled tightly against him, and fell into a sound sleep.

* * *

The jangling of the phone was a shrill and unwelcome intrusion on a short night of sleep. Jim found it impossible to disengage the hairy octopus that had fastened onto his body, and his lover was sleeping so deeply now that even the phone wasn't disturbing him. Jim finally, somehow, slid both of them over toward the night stand until Blair rallied and let go in time for Jim to catch the phone.

"Ellison."

"Jim, it's Simon." A long pause. "There's been a murder." The way Simon said it froze the blood in Jim's veins. He hadn't simply said "we've got a body" like he usually did. This was _the_ murder. The one they'd all lived in fear of since identifying one of Blair's captors as Slater.

"Where?" Jim was leaning up on one elbow now, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and noting with an inward flinch that it was only five in the morning. They'd gotten all of two and a half hours of real rest.

"You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"The body was found in Sandburg's office at the U. Sitting at his desk. A janitor saw the light on in the office and went in to check. I'm at the campus right now, so I need you to get down here. I think you should leave Sandburg home."

"I think so too, but I know he'll never go for it."

"I've called Starsky and Hutchinson. They're on their way."

"We'll be there ASAP, sir." Jim hung up the phone and looked over at Blair, wondering how in hell he was going to explain this one to him. 

* * *

Starsky shook his head as he surveyed the scene in front of him. The corpse was sitting up in the desk chair, head lolling off to one side, vacant eyes staring. The hands hand been placed, palms down, on the surface of the desk, on top of a neat pile of graded term papers. The young man was probably about Blair's age, give or take a few years, with a shaggy mane of brown hair. He didn't really look like Blair upon close inspection, but the imagery was very effective nonetheless.

Pinned to the corpse's denim jacket was a note that read "Just Practicing".

"Well, I guess if we had any doubts he was after Sandburg, we can dismiss them now," Hutch said, running his hand over his face, letting it come to rest on his chin. "Judging from the amount of blood on and under the chair, I'd say we're probably dealing with considerable mutilation again. Whaddya wanna bet this matches the 'Carnage in Hillside Park' M.O.?" 

"Killed somewhere else and brought here. Which means we have a good chance of finding some kind of blood trail."

Simon met Jim and Blair at the top of the stairs at the far end of the hall from Blair's office. 

"I want you to wait here, Sandburg," he greeted Blair.

"It's _my_ office, Simon."

"Blair, this isn't about trying to shut you out of things. I mean I really don't want you to go in there. It's not an image you want imprinted on your mind. Just trust me this time, huh?" There was something very gentle, almost paternal in Simon's tone. 

"Okay," Blair agreed hesitantly. "I'll wait right over there in the student lounge.

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said, infinitely relieved Blair wasn't fighting them on this. If Simon noticed the little caress to Blair's hair that was just a bit too tender for a gesture among buddies, he didn't comment on it. He was already leading the way down the hall

"What I don't understand is how the son of a bitch moved a bleeding corpse in here without anybody noticing, and without leaving a single fucking drop of blood!" Hutch stated angrily, gesturing at the floor as Banks and Ellison entered the office.

Having heard the two detectives debating the "no trail of blood" issue as he walked down the hall, Jim started scanning the floor for any traces of any substance that was out of place. 

"What'd the janitor have to say?" Jim asked, dispensing with the amenities of greetings as he fought the chill that seeing the corpse in Blair's chair sent up and down his spine.

"He cleans the buildings during a third shift schedule. He was going to empty the wastebaskets and mop the floors in these offices tonight." Starsky inclined his head toward the body. "When he got to this one, the door was opened, and our friend here was sitting in the chair. He thought at first that Sandburg had fallen asleep working at his desk, and wasn't surprised, since he said it wouldn't be the first time."

"Where was he prior to discovering the body?" Simon asked. 

"On the floor above. He was up there for a good hour, hour and a half." Hutch sighed. "The killer had the ideal opening to slip in here and leave the body. What I can't understand is how you lug a bleeding corpse around, bring it into a building, presumably up the stairs because you need a key to work the elevator after hours, drag it down a hall and plunk it in a desk chair without attracting any attention or making and mess."

Jim moved closer to the body, wondering why this should upset him so much. The intended imagery was obvious, but there was something so bizarre about Slater's killing...or maybe it was knowing what kind of mutilations most of the victims had suffered... It took every bit of his training to force him to examine it with his enhanced vision. Something shiny on the sleeve of the dead man's jacket caught his eye.

"I need tweezers." He waited while Starsky called to one of the lab technicians, and procured a set of tweezers and a plastic bag, which he took to Jim. 

"What is it?"

"Plastic," Jim opined, holding the tiny fragment up to the light. Starsky was squinting now, seeing little more than a thread of something in Ellison's tweezers. "From the looks of it, I'd say our killer wrapped the corpse in plastic, and effectively so--no leakage. As for not being noticed...well, it was the middle of the night, the janitor was upstairs. If he's strong, he could have lugged the body up three flights. This guy isn't huge," Jim commented, indicating the victim.

"Are we clear to move him?" One of the coroner's people entered the room, while two attendants with a gurney waited just outside the door.

"Not yet," Starsky held them off with a wave of his hand and went to look over the dead man's shoulder. "Didn't you tell me that someone else was grading Sandburg's students' papers while he was out?"

"Yes. I'm not sure who, but I guess another grad student. Why?" Jim frowned, joining Starsky where he stood by the desk.

"The date on these papers--they were turned in yesterday. So he had to get them from the student that was grading them."

"Where's the janitor?" Jim asked, frowning and looking around.

"In the student lounge, I imagine. We questioned him and told him to sit tight." Hutch paused. "Why?"

"I...I'm not sure," Jim replied, moving toward the door.

* * *

Blair shifted again in his seat, too tired to read and too nervous to sit still. The middle-aged man sitting on the couch several feet away wasn't the regular janitor, and the icy stares he was leveling at Blair were making the younger man uneasy. The man had greasy brown hair and a full beard, and eyes that made Blair's blood run cold. Eyes that looked horribly familiar...

"Are you filling in for Eddie?" Blair asked, hoping a little small talk might dispel the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah."

"Is he sick?"

"No," came the hushed, clipped reply.

"On vacation?" Blair was beginning to detect something... something he had to tune into more carefully. He just needed more words from the other man.

"Yeah."

"Must have been pretty awful, finding that guy," Blair said, trying the sympathy approach. The other man turned and smiled what Blair could only call a malevolent leer.

"He looked just like you...sitting there dead in your chair..all cut up and bleeding," he hissed. Blair's heart jump started and raced, his throat constricted so he couldn't speak, and he felt the strength drain out of his limbs. He'd know that voice anywhere...that voice, and those eyes. The other man rose, and moved closer to Blair, who slid down in his chair, angry at himself for not attacking the man, or at least running. But shock was dictating his actions now, and they were clumsy at best. "He didn't die until the very last minute. He felt every cut. Just like you will."

"Freeze! Don't move," Jim ordered, the deadly intent in his heart coming through clearly in his voice.

"Ellison," Slater chuckled, turning away from Blair to face the angry cop leveling the gun at him. "I have a message for you."

"Yeah, and I got one for you. On the floor! Now! Face down, hands behind your head! MOVE!"

With a maniacal leer, Slater pulled a knife from his pocket and lunged toward Blair. Angry at the way Slater was forcing him to do this and terrified for Blair at the same time, Jim opened fire. Six bullets tore into the madman's back, and his lifeless, bleeding body fell across Blair, where he still sat, frozen to the chair. 

"Goddamn stupid fucking move, Ellison!!" Starsky bellowed from behind as he strode into the student lounge. Jim spun on his heel, about to reply, but gave it up to go get the lifeless perp off Blair. He moved the body aside easily, checking to be sure there were no vital signs, even though he already knew Slater was dead.

"Blair?" He squatted in front of his white-faced, shaking, blood-spattered partner. Slater's death had left its stain on Blair's clothes, in his hair and on his face. And Slater, the filthy, sick son of a bitch, had orchestrated it that way. Blair was silent, not responding to Jim's presence at all. He stared straight ahead, as if none of the other men were even in the room. The commotion of other cops and back up units arriving didn't stir him. 

"Did it ever occur to you that you just fucked up what was probably our only chance to ever figure out Slater's connection to Blair?" Starsky demanded. Jim ignored the admonition and took Blair's face in his hands. 

"Chief? Come on, buddy, look at me. _See_ me." Jim patted at the clammy face. No response.

"He's in shock," Starsky assessed, taking in Blair's condition. "He needs to get to the hospital."

"Give us a minute. Just back off," Jim snapped angrily, pulling off his coat and putting it around Blair's shoulders. "Sandburg. Look at me. Slater's dead. It's over."

"It's over all right," Starsky rose from checking the dead man's pulse and carried the knife with his handkerchief over to a plastic bag Hutch held open for it.

"What was I supposed to do?! Stand here and let him kill Blair?!" Jim rose and turned away from his catatonic partner, advancing toward Starsky. "Tell me how I was supposed to do anything different here since you're the fucking expert!"

"You could have played it a little cooler with him instead of using guerilla tactics to push a madman over the edge! Holy shit, Ellison, is this the way you _always_ handle delicate situations?!" Starsky demanded, standing toe to toe with Jim, undaunted by any difference in their ages or sizes. 

"What's going on here?" Simon demanded as he entered the room, followed by the coroner's people.

"Let me share one little piece of advice with you, Ellison--"

"Save it! In case you haven't checked your ID lately, you're out of your jurisdiction, so don't try to pull some kind of seniority shit with me! This is my case and I handled it the way I saw fit!"

"And you're doing a goddamned great job! Your partner's a blood-spattered zombie, the suspect is dead and you antagonized him before he could give you any answers about Sandburg's kidnapping! If this is you on a good day, I'd fucking hate to be around when you screw up!"

"If you're as good as you think you are, you'd have known you were _questioning_ Slater, for God's sake! Talk about having your head up your ass!"

"The last time I saw Slater, the son of a bitch had blond hair and was clean-shaven! How the fuck was I supposed to know it was him with a fucking wig on?! And while we're at it, how'd you know it was him?"

"Instincts."

"Bullshit! What was it? Last time I looked, this was supposed to be a joint venture between our departments. What are you holding back?"

"I told you--it was a hunch! You can quit giving me the third degree because I don't owe you any explanations!"

Convinced the two volatile cops were going to chew each other to shreds, and Banks was going to try intervene, Hutch walked over to where Blair sat, still in his glassy-eyed state.

"Come on, kiddo. We're going to get you cleaned up." Something in Hutch's calm approach seemed to at least move Blair to cooperate with standing up and walking. He steered Blair into the nearby men's room and flipped on the lights, then led him to the sink. "Jim was right. You don't have anything to worry about. Slater's history." The soft, gentle voice kept Blair calm as Hutch pulled the younger man's hands under the stream of water and washed off the streaks of Slater's blood that were caking there. 

Meanwhile, back in the student lounge, the battle of words was reaching a conclusion.

"Let me share a few words of wisdom with you, Ellison. There's one reason you reacted the way you did here tonight, and that's because you wanted revenge against Slater for going after Sandburg. And that's understandable. But you pushed the guy's buttons until you _knew_ you were going to force him into a situation that justified deadly force. If you're going to stay partnered with someone you love, you're going to have to learn the fine art of distancing yourself. Hutch and I have been doing that for close to 30 years now."

"I think you're out of line, Detective Starsky," Simon spoke up. "Jim's not a psychiatrist. He can't be expected to psychoanalyze maniacs in the middle of a situation where a civilian's life is in danger. He did nothing in violation of procedure, and his use of deadly force was perfectly justified, and you know it."

"No, Captain Banks, he didn't violate procedure, and I'm sure the review board will give this whole mess their stamp of approval. And don't misunderstand me--Slater was a waste of oxygen anyway. But that's not the point. We all know that it's possible to manipulate a situation to turn out the way you want it to. Slater held the key to _why_ Sandburg was ever kidnapped in the first place. To finding the other kidnappers, and hopefully, their boss. This solves the Wesley Slater dilemma, and frankly, that's fine with me because it means we can board a plane in the morning and go home. But I would think that even Rambo here would be a little upset about fucking up the kidnapping case."

"So I should have let him cut Blair up a little while I waited for information?" Jim asked, smiling and shaking his head.

"He had a message for you. You should have fucking listened to him before you started shouting at him to hit the floor!"

"He was playing a game. His message would have probably been to spin around and slit Blair's throat."

"He didn't even have the knife out when you barked out that order."

"Look, you two, you're not going to see eye to eye on this, so let's just get the reports written up, clean up this mess and get on with it," Simon said reasonably, resting his hands on his hips and giving both men a look that clearly said that was not a suggestion, but an order, politely phrased in deference to their guest.

"Where's Sandburg?" Jim spun around, noticing the chair where he'd left Blair was empty.

"Hutch took him out of here," Starsky replied, having caught sight of the other two men leaving the room while he was fighting with Ellison.

"Shit." Jim turned on his heel and left the room, focusing every sense on finding his partner. It didn't take him long to pick up Blair's voice, strained and low, coming from the men's room. Jim swung open the door, and saw Hutch blotting water out of a small section of Blair's hair in the front where Slater's blood had landed.

"Jim." Blair moved away from the sink and made a beeline for Jim, who gathered him into a tight embrace. 

"You gave me a real scare for a minute there, Chief."

"What happened?" The question was muffled against Jim's chest, and Blair's confusion was plain in his voice. Jim's eyes flicked up to Hutch, who just shrugged. Apparently, Blair didn't remember the specifics of the events that had temporarily shocked him into silence. "We got Slater, pal. He's dead."

"Why is there blood on my shirt?" Blair asked, his voice a little high with panic.

"You were kind of close to the action, partner. You're not hurt."

"I don't...remember...Jim? What happened?"

"It's okay, buddy. You're a little bit shocky right now."

"What did he do?"

"He was pretending to be the janitor--"

"So where's Eddie?"

"Eddie?" Hutch asked.

"The regular guy!" Blair was still a bit disoriented, but he seemed to put together that if Slater were masquerading as the night janitor, he had to dispose of said janitor somehow.

"We've got a call in to the guy who's in charge of custodial services on campus to check out Slater's story that he was a new hire. He hasn't called back yet. I'll get a search going," Hutch volunteered, moving past them. 

"Thanks for helping out," Jim said, catching the other man by the arm as he passed. Hutch smiled.

"Anytime." He continued out the door.

"Jim, I don't remember anything after you telling me to wait in the student lounge!"

"You've got a little dose of shock-induced amnesia, sweetheart. I had to shoot Slater. He was threatening you."

"So this is his blood?" Blair moved back and looked down at himself, his face showing his disgust.

"Yes."

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Take a deep breath, baby. You can do this. You've been at a lot of unpleasant crime scenes. Come on. Breathe." Jim slid an arm around Blair's shoulders and led him to the sink, helping him splash some cold water on his face. "Feeling better?"

"I think so. I can't believe I lost it again. Those guys must think I'm a total pansy."

"Nobody thinks you're a pansy, Blair," Jim responded, unable to stop smiling at the particular term Blair had chosen.

"It's not funny."

"No, it isn't," Jim said, chortling a little. "We might both be fairies, but by God, we are _not_ pansies and that's final!"

"Jim, dammit, I don't wanna laugh about this," Blair said, then burst into laughter.

"It's inappropriate and politically incorrect," Jim added, right before he started laughing himself. It wasn't the best possible time for Simon to check on them, but having the perfect timing most bosses posses, the captain walked into the restroom to find the two men red-faced and laid against the wall, Blair mopping tears off his face and trying futilely to take a normal breath. The younger man wanted desperately to put together some sort of explanation for Simon about the spring of tension letting loose and hysteria-induced mirth, but every time he looked at the captain's stern face, he laughed harder.

Sobered a bit by Simon's stony face, and the fact he was supposed to be handling a murder investigation, Jim pulled himself under control fairly well, fairly quickly.

"Sorry, sir. Blair and I are a little punchy, I guess. I was trying to shake him out of his stupor, and I got a little carried away."

"Apparently. Glad you're feeling better, Sandburg," Simon said a bit pointedly.

"I am. Sorry, Simon. I really didn't mean to lose it like this. It won't happen again."

"You got a good shock, Blair. I'm not blaming you for that. But we do have a rather pressing matter at hand in the student lounge."

"Have they moved Slater?"

"They bagged him and took him out to the wagon. Dr. Horton just arrived."

"Oh, man," Blair commented, rolling his eyes. 

"He's the hard ass, right?" Jim asked Blair. The younger man nodded, smiling a little. 

"Yeah. President Horton to you, Detective," Blair replied in a lofty tone.

The three of them walked back out to the student lounge. The outline of Slater's body, as well as a good deal of blood, was still visible. A tall man with receding gray hair and silver framed glasses was arguing with Hutch, who seemed to have all his dark-haired partner lacked in diplomacy.

"You seriously expect me to close down an entire building for the day? Do you have any idea how many offices are in this building? Not to mention classrooms?"

"Dr. Horton, we've found one corpse and there's been a shooting in this building. We haven't even finished the complete search. There's no way you can open the doors at in an hour and a half for business as usual."

"Mr. Sandburg," Horton began, spotting Blair immediately. "I understand the dead man was found in your office." There was almost an accusatory note in his voice. "What do you know about this?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. No more than Detective Hutchinson has probably already told you."

"Captain Banks!" Rafe hurried up to join the group. He had been in charge of the building search. "We've got two in the basement."

"Damn. ID?"

"One is Edward Milford, and the other is a young woman, Jennifer Theisen," Rafe concluded, checking his notepad. "I sent the crime lab guys down there. Looks like multiple stab wounds."

"Oh God." Blair's voice caught their attention as he dropped into the corner seat of a nearby couch. "Jenny and Eddie..."

"I'll make the necessary arrangements to keep the building closed for the day," Dr. Horton said, nodding. "I would like to notify their families personally."

"We can arrange for that, sir," Simon responded, leading the man away from the other police personnel and walking with him to a nearby reception desk where there was a telephone that could be used to handle their business.

"I'm sorry about Jenny, Chief. I know she's been your assistant a while now." Jim sat on the arm of the couch near Blair.

"I can't believe he killed her. Why?" Blair looked up at Jim with moist eyes. "I don't want to think about what he did to her first."

"He probably came in here after hours to do the deed, and she was in the office for some reason," Starsky offered, handing a cup of coffee to Blair and then handing the second one to Jim. "I was fresh out of olive branches," he said, taking a seat on the couch.

"Coffee goes down easier," Jim responded, smiling slightly.

"There was no forced entry, and there were papers on your desk dated today--yesterday, I mean. The M.E. estimated time of death for the guy at the desk at about midnight, and he was probably placed in the chair around one. Seems pretty late for a student to be hanging around this building."

"Not really. Jenny has... _had_ a part-time job as a waitress at the restaurant on Chandler Street...uhh...Pegasus."

"Pegasus?" Starsky frowned at the odd name.

"They have massive chicken wings there--so they named it after a winged horse," Jim explained. Two corpses in the basement, and the two cops were talking about chicken wings. Blair had to smile as it occurred to him that he was very glad Starsky was "married". Jim and the other detective seemed a gastric match made in heaven.

"Clever," Starsky opined, laughing a little. "So she worked late there?"

"They don't close until midnight, and occasionally she'd come over here and catch up on stuff. I should have told her not to do that."

"This from the man with the nighthawk study group."

"See, Jim, that's the thing. This is supposed to be a safe place. A place for learning and teaching and... I'm not making any sense."

"It's a place that's supposed to be safe territory. A peaceful place. That makes sense," Jim added. "But no place is ever 100% safe. That's the sick reality we have to live with." Jim reached over and laid a hand on Blair's back. "So Jenny could have been working in the office when he showed up?"

"Yeah, she probably was. And he had to kill Eddie because he'd be doing his cleaning about now. I think that was one reason Jenny didn't worry too much about coming in after hours. Eddie was a great guy, and she said he usually walked her out when she left, and checked on her a couple times while she was there. God, Jim, he had two children--he was only forty years old. His oldest kid is only nine," Blair said, his voice breaking.

"You knew this guy pretty well, huh?" Jim asked gently.

"Yes," Blair answered quietly, closing his eyes briefly. Tears slid out from under both lids, which he swiped away quickly.

"Look, Chief, I'm going to see if I can track Rafe down and have him take you home. Starsky and I have to go downstairs."

"I should go with you."

"No. I don't want you involved in that phase of things this time out, buddy. Trust me on this one, huh?" Jim took a hold of Blair's hand and squeezed it.

"Okay."

"You go find Rafe. I'll join you downstairs after he gets here," Starsky offered.

"Great. Thanks." Jim headed for the stairs.

"You don't have to babysit me. I'll be okay."

"It wouldn't be odd if you weren't. You've had some pretty bad shocks tonight." Starsky looked at the younger man with great compassion. Blair was a scholar, not a cop. It was at a time like this that it was so painfully obvious that the violence and heartless slaughter of innocent people that Blair was forced to deal with so frequently took a very heavy toll on him emotionally. "You're handling all this very well, Blair."

"Sure I am. I either pass out or puke every time something major happens." Blair shook his head. "Jenny was so young. She was my friend," he added, giving up and letting the tears flow at the thought of the cheerful young girl who had organized his chaotic office and often shared confidences over coffee when they both took a break from one of Blair's many projects. He put his head down in one hand and cried.

"Not fair, is it?" Starsky asked, slipping his arm around Blair's shoulders.

"She was in here...doing m-my w-work."

"Hey. Don't start thinking that way. You never asked her to work here at midnight."

"I saw Eddie...all the time. I...was here...late a lot." Blair tried to regain his composure and wiped at his eyes again.

"Slater's dead. At least he can't put anyone else through this. Looks like my replacement's here. You hang in there, huh?" he said to Blair, giving his shoulders a little squeeze and standing up as Rafe entered the room.

Continued in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from four. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part five  
by Candy Apple

Jim opened the door to the loft and tossed his keys in the basket. Rafe, who had been sleeping on the couch, jerked back to consciousness. Since he'd been called back in to work after just leaving following an all night stakeout, he had been grateful for the opportunity to catch a nap.

"Thanks for hanging around. I didn't want to leave Sandburg on his own."

"No problem. So how bad were things with the janitor and the girl?"

"No mutilation. Slater wasn't taking any special pains with them. Our friend in the desk chair upstairs wasn't so lucky. His murder fit the M.O. of the slasher movie--just like we expected. Where's Blair?"

"He went upstairs to lie down." Rafe seemed a little puzzled by that, but he didn't say anything. "I better get going. I've got a court appearance in--shit!! In five minutes." Rafe flew out the door of the loft, barely sparing Jim a backward glance. It was almost ten in the morning, and Jim only had a few minutes to check on his partner before he re-joined their visiting detectives and tied up the loose ends of the Slater mess. And what a God-awful mess it had been.

He wondered how many times Jennifer's mother's anguished screams from the morgue would reverberate in his head before fading to a dull, painful memory like all the other screams of all the other shattered mothers before her. Wearily climbing the stairs, he had similar thoughts about Eddie's more stoic wife, whose quiet agony was every bit as wrenching as any scream of pain.

"Jim?" Blair's head shot up off the pillow as if he expected the hounds of hell to be bounding up the stairs instead of one exhausted cop.

"Hey, sweetheart." Jim tossed his jacket aside and stretched out on the bed next to his fully clothed partner. "You okay, baby?" He reached over and stroked Blair's cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. He found moisture there. "I'm so sorry about Jenny and Eddie, pal. I really am."

"He killed them...like they were disposable. They weren't even important kills."

"I know. You're right." Jim let out a long sigh. 

"What's wrong?" Blair scooted over and Jim pulled his lover close against his side.

"Starsky had a few opinions about my handling of Slater. I just wonder how right he was."

"What really happened? Please tell me. I know it was bad, and I know I ended up with Slater's blood on me, but I don't remember how."

"While you were waiting for me in the student lounge, Slater was in there too, playing his janitor role, and he talked to you. I could hear your voice when I was down the hall, so I tuned in. I heard your heartbeat picking up, and I knew something was wrong. You were scared. So I headed down there, and when I got there, he was--"

"Standing over me," Blair finished. "And you shot him."

"He wouldn't cooperate with what I told him to do about getting down on the floor, then he turned on you with the knife, and I had to empty the gun into him to be damn sure he didn't have any chance to get a swipe in at you before he dropped."

"And he dropped on me." Blair shuddered.

"You remember?"

"Yeah. Too well."

"I'm glad you're not blocking it anymore."

"There were a jumble of pictures in my head before. I sort of knew what happened, but I couldn't make it fit together."

"Are you going to be okay to come in with me for a few hours to wrap things up?"

"Yeah. Think we could get a few hours later for some down time?"

"Sure."

"So you and Starsky really went at each other."

"Yeah. Tooth and nail."

"Who won?"

"Simon called it a draw."

"I vaguely remember you arguing, but I don't remember what it was about."

"He was pissed off that I shot Slater. He thought I purposely escalated the situation so I could do it with justification." Jim let out a sigh. "The worst part of it is, I'm not sure he's wrong. He said if I were going to continue working with someone I loved that I had to be more objective--or distanced or something like that. That I was after revenge."

"The guy was gonna kill me."

"When I shot him, yes. But before that, he said he had a message. I was so goddamned mad at him that I didn't care. I told him to hit the floor, face down. I didn't even listen. Starsky's point was that I might have fucked up our only chance to understand why you were kindapped in the first place."

"Jim, I was only an arm's reach away from the guy. You couldn't have known it was safe to stand there and keep him talking."

"That's what I said," Jim responded, smiling. "God, I love you so much, Blair." Jim shifted onto his side and gathered his lover into a tight hug. "I just hope I didn't blow this whole case."

"Slater's dead. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I meant your kidnapping case, sweetheart. That's always been number one with me." Jim felt the arms around him tighten. 

"I know that. Even with all the consultants and the hoopla about Slater, I know that mattered most to you all along. We'll figure it out, partner."

"Hey, we've got to get moving." Jim pulled back. "Starsky and Hutchinson are still at the PD, and we're trying to track down where Slater was staying."

"I love you." Blair reached up and cupped Jim's cheek with his hand. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, man. The very best."

"Since you've been with me, you've been shot at, kidnapped, beaten up, pushed around, teased by a bunch of numbskull cops and your schedule would keep three people stressed out."

"Yeah, there's that," Blair responded, laughing a little. "But there's having someone miss me when I'm gone, having a place to call home and really feel the meaning of the word for the first time, and there's sleeping in the arms of somebody you know is going to love you for the rest of your life. There's being with somebody who cares enough about what happens to you to be worried or pissed off when you don't call. All of that is _so_ new to me, Jim. I never had it before I met you."

"I wish I could...tell you how I feel. I just...the right words aren't there, or if they are, I can't come up with them."

"You're telling me now. Every time you hold me or touch me, or take care of me when I'm hurting, or do something nice for me just because--it's all there, Jim. You don't have to tell me a bunch of words. I see it in those remarkable blue eyes of yours, and I feel it in your touches. You could snap a man's neck without a lot of effort, and I've seen you drop-kick somebody across a room. But when you touch me, it's like you're touching something delicate and precious. Nobody's ever touched me like that. Maybe because I'm not delicate, and I haven't really been all that precious to anybody before."

"You are to me," Jim whispered, covering Blair's mouth with his own, kissing him as gently as he knew how. "When this is over, we're going to have some time for us."

"We better get going, huh?"

"Yeah." Jim hauled himself up off the bed. "Can't tell Simon I came home to pick you up and you seduced me instead."

" _I_ seduced _you_."

"You're better suited to the role of seducer than I am, Chief," Jim added, chortling a little. "You're more...exotic."

"Exotic?" Blair dropped back down to sit on the edge of the bed he'd just left. Jim turned around, still smiling, to see his lover's stunned expression.

"Yup, exotic." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head. "Come on, Chief. Time to haul ass out of here." Jim headed down the stairs, leaving a completely speechless Blair to scramble to his feet and hurry after him.

* * *

"You really lit into Ellison back at the University," Hutch said, taking a drink of his coffee. The two men had taken a break to go to the coffee shop near the PD to get a light breakfast. "You really think he had that coming?"

"He handled Slater with the finesse of a bulldozer. For whatever the son of a bitch was, he _did_ hold the key to Sandburg's kidnapping. Ellison antagonized him into action and then took advantage of the situation to kill him because he frightened Blair."

"And we've never done anything over the top for each other--something that stretched the rules?"

"Sure. But--"

"You remember the Haymes case?"

"That's a low blow, babe," Starsky responded, not looking up at his partner. "It's been over 20 years."

"I'm not criticizing how you handled the situation. I'm just saying that you shot at that car, hit the gas tank and blew up the perps because you thought they had just killed me. They were the only ones who knew where that girl was. If we hadn't had the leads provided by Joe Collandra, we'd have never found her."

"You don't have to replay the whole fucking case for me. I was there, remember?" Starsky spat out angrily.

"My point is that Ellison did what his instincts told him to protect his partner, and to remove a threat to his partner's life. It's no more extreme than some of the things we've done for each other and you know it. The real problem here is that the two of you are both stubborn bastards who are used to being in charge and you're having a territory battle." Hutch shook his head. "He's pissed because we've been brought in on this case as if he couldn't handle it without help, and we know we've got more years of experience handling psychos like Slater, so when he took Slater out, you were pissed he didn't handle things the way _we_ would have done it."

"I think we should offer to stay on and work the kidnapping case."

"Ellison'll love that." Hutch laughed softly, shaking his head and taking another bite of his wheat toast.

"If he wants to refuse it, he can. We'll make the offer to him and Sandburg--not to Banks. Because if he likes the idea, he'll turn it into an order, and we'll never get anything accomplished." Starsky eyed the last sausage on Hutch's plate. With a roll of the eyes, the blond pushed the plate toward him, and Starsky gobbled the remaining food happily.

"You should really cut down your fat intake, Starsk," Hutch opined, watching his partner lick the sausage grease off his lips. 

"I'm healthy as a horse. Doctor said so last month," Starsky countered, citing his most recent annual physical.

"I think you're doing that just to prove me wrong."

"Nah, that's just an added bonus," Starsky added, grinning mischievously.

* * *

Jim and Blair arrived back at the Major Crimes bullpen near eleven, to find their guests were ensconced in their temporary office going over Slater's personal effects. Simon had located an empty office before Starsky and Hutchinson's arrival and had it set up to accommodate their guests. Jim tapped on the door, which was a few doors down from Major Crimes.

"Come in," Hutch's voice carried through the door.

"Anything from Slater's stuff?" Jim asked, entering the office with Blair in tow.

"First glance didn't give us much, but he did have a receipt in here from a place called One-Stop Food Mart," Starsky responded.

"That's not far from the U," Blair spoke up. "Most of the dorm and frat house students shop there."

"How easy is it to rent a room near the campus?" Hutch asked Blair. 

"Depends on the season. Right now, late fall, when everybody's pretty well settled...sometimes it's easier. Students drop out and leave, but other's don't join mid-semester. I'd say you have to be watching for it, but it's not overly difficult."

"I think we should assume that Slater lived somewhere near where he bought his food, and start tracking it that way," Jim opined.

"Sounds reasonable to me." Starsky paused. "We'd like to stay on after the Slater mess is wrapped up and help out with the kidnapping case."

"Any special reason?" Jim asked, obviously puzzled.

"A couple," Starsky responded. He glanced over at Blair, who seemed pleased by this turn of events. For some reason, that made Starsky inexplicably happy. "First of all, we're assuming that Slater _didn't_ mastermind the kidnapping because he left Sandburg alive, and because he didn't _appear_ to be in charge. So it's possible we're still dealing with a crime instigated by Slater, in which case I would like to close the circle by solving it. Secondly, we're assuming that just because Blair isn't a cop, he has no enemies angry enough to want him dead. I want to see that angle pursued more vehemently to find the motive."

"I imagine it's a done deal anyway. I'm sure Simon will be delighted with the offer." Jim was still a bit bristly about the argument earlier that morning, and his truce with Starsky seemed a bit shaky at best.

"We didn't mention this to Banks," Hutch spoke up. "It's entirely up to you to accept or refuse the offer." Hutch shrugged. "Of course I'm not saying we won't follow up on a few leads on our own one way or the other, but whether or not we stay on here and work with you is your choice."

"I think it's a great idea," Blair spoke up. "Four heads are better than two," he added, looking nervously at Jim. The larger man smiled. It was apparent that what Blair wanted, he generally got, and this would be no exception.

"Okay. Fine. Thanks for the help," Jim managed, smiling slightly.

"Blair, do you know of anyone who would have a motive to go after you?" Starsky asked, leaning on the desk around which they all sat.

"I can't honestly think of anybody unless it's something connected to my work with the PD."

"Do you keep your old grade books?" Hutch asked.

"Yes."

"From all the courses you've ever taught?" he persisted.

"Yes. Even if I'm grading stuff for other profs, I write down the student's name, the project, the course number and the grade, just so I have a record in case there's any question. All that stuff's in my office."

"Do you flunk very many students?" Starsky asked.

"I try not to. It's a last resort, if they aren't willing to work with me to bring up their grades. I give them lots of warning."

"But you've had to fail some?"

"Yes."

"Any threats of retaliation, revenge, whatever you can remember?"

"A couple. I've gotten slammed around by a pissed off football player before, and I had my tires slashed once, but generally speaking, students either handle it, knew it was coming or get really angry, but don't usually threaten the professor."

"Ever had anyone lose out on team membership, financial aid, parental support--anything like that--because of being flunked out of one of your classes?" Starsky queried.

"I don't know for sure. Possibly. I know the football team guy got tossed off the team. I think one girl had to move back home. But she had flunked three of five classes, so I was in good company on that one."

"When you were granted your teaching fellowship, was there a lot of competition for it?" Starsky persisted.

"Yeah, quite a bit," Blair responded, smiling.

"What is it?" Starsky smiled back.

"You remembered the right term for it. That's kind of unusual."

"It's a real accomplishment--it oughtta at least get called by its right name." Starsky paused. "Do you know anything about the other candidates?"

"Not a great deal. I know one guy got an assistantship at UCLA--"

"That's not as good though, right?"

"No. Right. It isn't as much financial support. Plus, aside from teaching, I've had the opportunity to participate in some research projects, which has helped my publication record quite a bit."

"You've been published?" Starsky asked.

"A few times, in scholarly periodicals. I have an article at 'National Geographic', but I haven't heard back from them. It's more mainstream, so it would have been fun to get something in there."

"Wow. I knew professors had to write articles, but I didn't know you'd already gotten started," Starsky responded, taking a couple of notes. "Who would have the list of applicants? The registrar?"

"Probably the Dean of Social Sciences, Dr. Carmichael. She did all the interviews, along with the department chair. But the paperwork is probably in the dean's office."

"How about any other competitive situations you've been in where someone lost to you?" Hutch added.

"There haven't been many. I got a scholarship to Rainier when I was 16, but a lot had to do with my age, and my GPA. I don't think it was really a competition in terms of someone losing out because I got it. I haven't had any jobs anyone would be jealous of until the fellowship, which could have pissed some people off who didn't get it."

"Okay. That gives us a couple places to start. See, the thing is, a killer can often be set off by something minor--well, not _minor_ , but not something the average person would kill for. Losing out on a job, a promotion, a girlfriend, whatever--and their target is often the person who _did_ get that thing they wanted." Hutch exhaled. "So we need your grading records, the applicant info from the dean's office--anything else?"

"Follow up records from the registrar on the students Blair did have to fail," Jim interjected, speaking for the first time in several minutes. He had been quietly assessing the interaction between Blair and Starsky, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He picked up no traces of lust from either man for the other, but they had a rapport that was unusual for two such different people who had only known each other a couple of days.

"Okay. Blair, who do we need to talk to in order to get this stuff?" Hutch asked.

"My stuff is accessible for the asking. I mean, I know you're not going to do anything with it but use it for the investigation, so I have no problems with turning over my records. You'll probably need to get a court order to get the application paperwork, and it would be easier to work through the President's Office for that, and the registrar's information, since they have to break confidentiality to do it."

"I can handle the technicalities," Jim offered, taking the list Starsky tore off a legal pad. Being the only official Cascade PD cop in the room, he was the only one who _could_ request the necessary court orders.

* * *

"How're you feeling, sweetheart?" Jim asked as he joined his partner in the bedroom after finishing up in the bathroom downstairs. It was actually only ten in the evening, but the thought of catching up on some sleep was a seductive one.

"Okay." Blair was reading an ominous-looking big volume as he sat cross-legged on his side of the bed, closest to the wall. In his t-shirt and sweatpants, hair falling forward as he read, Jim thought he was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

"Been a rough day," Jim opined, tossing his robe aside and climbing into bed. In a pair of lightweight boxers, he was comfortable under the bedding. He smiled at the thought of finding other ways to keep Blair warm so the neck-to-ankles bedwear could be dispensed with soon. He slid up in a sitting position and took the large book out of Blair's hands.

"Hey--"

"You need to relax a little, baby."

"Jim, I've gotta get through that--"

"Tonight?"

"Well, no, but soon."

"Tomorrow's soon enough. Come on. Time to shut down the brain for a few hours." 

Blair reluctantly dispensed with his glasses and slid down in the bed as Jim did the same. 

"I'm so far behind, Jim. I don't know how I'm ever gonna get caught up."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Hold me and tell me I can do it?" Blair responded honestly.

"You got it, Chief." He spooned himself around Blair from behind and held him close. "I honestly believe you can handle it, Blair. And I don't have to work you so hard at the PD for a couple weeks until you get your head above water."

"I really like working with Starsky and Hutch. They're good guys. I'm glad they're going to be around for a while."

"Yeah, they're good cops. Hopefully we'll find some kind of lead out of the stack of paperwork we've got to plow through." Jim kissed Blair's shoulder. "How's your back?"

"Pretty good. I still feel it a little, but not as much."

"I think I should investigate the situation personally." Jim pulled Blair's t-shirt up a bit in back and slid down to kiss the exposed skin. "Seems okay so far--but I need to see the whole thing to be sure."

"Really?" Blair played along, moving up long enough to dispose of the t-shirt. Jim still felt a stab of anger mixed with heartache for the pain Blair had suffered when he saw the fading damage, but it _was_ fading.

He kissed his way along several of the pale pink marks, smiling against the soft skin when he heard Blair's little whimpers of pleasure. He took his time moving across the expanse of Blair's back, letting his lips dance lightly over the surface until he reached Blair's shoulders, and then the back of his neck. His arousal was starting to make itself known, and he could catch the scent that told him Blair was right there with him. 

"Love you," he whispered against one curl-covered ear, then kissed it. Blair rolled over to face him, claiming his mouth with passionate enthusiasm. Jim slid his arms around his lover's body, still careful to be gentle, but knowing Blair's pain had lessened enough that he could be touched without discomfort.

They kissed for long minutes, learning every little characteristic of each other's mouths. When Blair broke free, he began kissing his way across the broad expanse of Jim's chest, pausing to lick and suck at one of the tiny nubs there. The sensation was like a lightning bolt of pleasure that seared through Jim's body, making him arch and groan low in his throat. He could feel Blair smiling against him, pleased with the reaction, moving on to the second nipple to see if it worked as well on that side. It did.

Jim's wandering hands soon were not content with Blair's back, and found their way under the waistband of his sweatpants to squeeze and knead the firm globes there. Blair moaned and wrapped a leg around Jim's leg, his tongue thrusting harder into the larger man's mouth.

Sliding the impeding garment over the curve of Blair's buttocks, Jim waited while his partner kicked them the rest of the way off. Not to be outdone, Blair divested Jim of his boxers with equal efficiency.

"Is this okay?" Jim asked breathlessly, his hand slipping gently around Blair's hardening shaft.

"Ooh, yeah," Blair responded, arching at the touch and mirroring the gesture. 

"Come on, baby, it won't break off," Jim goaded, kissing Blair's forehead, since the other man's face was turned downward, concentrating on his task. The strokes became a bit firmer and faster, enough so to be real pleasure instead of teasing caresses. Jim picked up the pace of his own strokes to Blair.

"Oh, God...Jim...I'm gonna..."

"Right...behind you, baby..." Jim ground out, pumping faster, letting out a shout of ecstasy as Blair followed his lead, bringing him to a climax. As he spilled his seed onto Blair's pumping hand, belly and chest, Blair let out a few little shouts of pleasure as his own orgasm ripped through him, bathing Jim in the results.

Arms and legs wound around each other, pulling the two men close as they recovered.

"Love you, sweetheart," Jim managed, kissing Blair's cheek and then finding his lips.

"That was beautiful," Blair murmured, kissing the spot on Jim's chest that happened to be under his lips at the moment. 

"You're beautiful," Jim countered, letting his hand trail down the damp, cooling back to the rounded buttocks. "Absolutely beautiful."

"We should get cleaned up." Blair started to get up, but Jim pulled him back down again, rolling them so that Blair was pinned beneath him. He leisurely kissed and nibbled at Blair's lips.

"Not letting you go," he growled into Blair's ear, tugging on the lobe gently with his teeth.

"You want to be all sticky?"

"As long as I'm all sticky with you, that's fine by me, Chief." Jim was still busily licking and nibbling his way down Blair's throat, stopping to plant a very large passion mark on his Adam's apple.

"That's gonna show," Blair protested weakly. 

"Mm-hm," Jim agreed, finding an equally succulent spot on Blair's shoulder. When he'd finished, he licked the second mark. "So will that one."

"Not under my shirt."

"Who said you were going to be allowed to wear a shirt for the next 24 hours?"

"Think Simon'll okay me running around naked just for your personal amusement?" Blair countered, laughing.

"Always getting hung up on the details, Sandburg." Jim started kissing his way down Blair's neck again, nuzzling him and finally licking at his throat and down to the beginnings of the hair on Blair's chest. The younger man already felt the beginnings of another erection, and Jim felt his own shaft filling again.

"Jim...make love to me."

"That's what I'm doing, baby," he responded, lowering his head to attack a nipple.

"No...I mean all the way. For real." Blair watched as the head hovering over his chest stopped, then moved up until Jim was face to face with him.

"Are you sure you want to try that?"

"I'm sure. I want to feel you inside me."

"It's not that simple. It's going to be painful at first, sweetheart."

"No pain, no gain, right? Come on, Jim. I love you. You love me. You know we're both dying for it. Why not?"

Jim found his body couldn't argue with that logic, even if his brain was intent on making an issue of it. He took Blair's mouth in a fiery kiss, his hands sliding down to possessively knead the globes of his lover's ass. Hands roamed over hot flesh, mouths and tongues savored tastes of each other as their lovemaking continued. 

"Let's try it on your knees, baby," Jim suggested, not sure exactly how this would be easiest for Blair. He hoped by getting the younger man's ass up higher that the penetration might go more smoothly. Blair scrambled up on the bed to oblige, spreading his legs and lowering his elbows to the mattress. "Oh, man," Jim gasped, trying to convince his throbbing hard-on that it didn't need to ram in to the hilt on the first stroke.

Placing his hands gently on Blair's hips, he kissed and licked the upturned buttocks, smiling at Blair's groans of pleasure as he made his way to the tiny little pucker, where he paused, then darted his tongue inside. 

"J-im...Oh God...Oh...do that again..." Blair's head had dropped to folded arms by now, and he was breathing heavily. Jim obliged the request, loving how crazy this was making Blair.

"That's gonna be me in there, baby," he promised in a low, husky voice. Blair just whimpered and wiggled his ass invitingly.

Jim leaned over to the nightstand and rifled the drawer with one hand until he found a tube of aloe vera lotion. He could feel Blair's body tense a bit, so he stroked his lover's back soothingly.

"Relax, sweetheart. We're going to take it slow." Squeezing some of the lotion out on his fingers, he hesitantly moved his hand toward Blair, carefully probing the little hole with the tip of his finger. Slowly, he rotated and moved it until it was sheathed until the second knuckle. "Still okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Just...different." Blair's voice had an odd quality to it. Not exactly strained, but definitely less relaxed than he had been.

Jim worked the finger in the tight passage for a while until he felt Blair relaxing around him. With great caution and a lot of lotion, he worked his way up to a second finger.

"Starting to feel good, lover," Blair encouraged, and Jim could feel the relaxation in his partner's body.

"You're so tight, baby. God, you're going to be incredible," Jim said, a bit in awe of what they were doing. Encouraged by Blair's obvious enjoyment of the movement of his fingers, Jim finally added a third finger, which Blair accommodated with a minimum of discomfort.

"Thought you hadn't done this before," Blair ground out, moving in time with Jim's fingers now.

"I've...uh...put a dildo in a woman before."

"Ellison...I'm shocked," Blair replied, stifling a chortle. It turned to a shout when Jim found his prostate. "Oh, God..."

"A woman doesn't have one of those, baby." Jim rubbed over the little gland again, smiling at the cry of pleasure it dragged out of his lover. 

"Come on, Jim...do it."

Jim was in no condition to turn down the invitation. Coating himself with the lotion, he positioned himself at Blair's center and started easing his way inside the hot passage. Blair's sharp indrawn breath froze him in his tracks.

"Blair?" He tried to convince his voice that it really did want to come out audibly. The head of his cock had been swallowed in a vise, and all he wanted to do was slide into home base and get some relief. 

"Wait...I...need a minute." The discomfort behind Blair's words was more than sufficient to make Jim wait forever if necessary.

"Try to relax, sweetheart. I won't move til you tell me." //Or until I die and collapse on top of you, whichever comes first.// Jim worked hard at finding some kind of breathing exercise to do, police radio codes to recite, the boy scout oath...anything to calm himself down while he waited. Feeling Blair's muscles relax a bit, he ached to move forward, but waited for his lover's permission.

"Okay," Blair said, but it wasn't too convincing, and he was still breathing raggedly. Jim pushed in a bit further, but halted at Blair's groan. "Jim...God...wait a minute. It hurts."

"Try to calm down, baby. You're tensing up, and that's probably making it hurt. Don't fight it if you feel some spasms in your stomach. It takes time to pass."

"How...d'you know?"

"The dildo thing, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Blair gasped. "Try more." 

"No." //Shit, Ellison, you're a masochist. You like having your dick pinched off at the end?// "Try to breathe, Blair. Relax, sweetheart." Jim slipped a little further in, and another pained groan decided him. This wasn't working. "I'm pulling out, baby. I need you to relax for me. It's going to feel better in a second, but I can't pull out fast with you tensed up."

"Don't do that! I'll do better. Please...just...give me time."

"It's hurting you, Chief. Nothing's worth that." Jim felt his erection cooperating a bit. He worked at slowly withdrawing as his cock softened. When they were separated, Blair shifted and turned on his side, away from Jim.

"I couldn't do it...I doesn't fit," he said miserably.

"Shhh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. We'll work it out when it's right. I don't think when we're horny is a good time to do this."

"That's usually when people do it," Blair replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"What I mean is...we started doing this tonight because we wanted sex. We wanted the physical part of it. But our minds...we're so damned fragmented with this case, and everything that happened at the U this morning. I just think we picked a lousy time to try this."

"I'm too small for you! It isn't going to make any damn difference when we do it! My asshole won't get bigger because we wait longer!" There was a hint of tears in the last words.

"This isn't your fault, Chief."

"Whose fault is it? You were doing fine! I'm the one who couldn't accommodate you." Jim wrapped himself around Blair from behind, just holding him close and letting him talk it out. "I always thought the one place that...that I wasn't too small for _anything_ was in bed."

"Blair, your height has nothing to do with the size of your anus. You were nervous, and we're both stressed. I needed stress relief as much as I needed lovemaking. I was too wired to play with you long enough to get you really ready. Besides, maybe we'll have to work our way up to the main event. My fingers felt okay, didn't they?"

"Yeah." Blair sighed. "That's why I thought the rest of it would feel good. But it hurt like hell, and my stomach cramped up and I didn't like it," Blair said honestly, his voice breaking.

"Nobody likes to be hurt, baby." Jim leaned forward far enough to kiss Blair's ear, since he couldn't reach his face and the other man wasn't moving to make it more accessible. "As soon as it started hurting you got more upset and nervous, right?" There was a little nod. 

"I knew what was coming was even more intense, and I couldn't picture it all fitting inside me, and when it hurt like that, I didn't think it could."

"You're not too small, sweetheart, and there's nothing wrong with being nervous. We're just not ready."

"You mean _I'm_ not ready."

"Yeah, well, you didn't see me flopping on my stomach and begging to go first either." Jim lightly rubbed Blair's stomach as he pulled him closer. "It's a big change for both of us." After kissing Blair's shoulder, he moved his lips up near his lover's ear. "I'm sorry I hurt you, baby. Do you feel okay now?"

"A little sore, but not too bad." Blair shook his head. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"It wasn't anybody's fault. It was bad timing. But one thing we know now."

"That I've got the smallest asshole in the United States?"

"Besides that," Jim said, deadpan. He smiled as Blair laughed. "We know now that we want each other physically. That we can have a good time in bed together. I think that's a pretty important milestone."

"But it was a disaster."

"The first time wasn't. Last time I looked, we were both lying here with dried come on our bellies. Something went right tonight. We just need to move slowly."

"How long are you going to be satisfied with hand jobs?"

"As long as you are. You aren't getting any either. What makes you think I can't last as long as you can to get this right?"

"I think you _can_ do anything you want. It's more a matter of when it becomes not worth the struggle."

"So how long have I got?"

"For what?"

"Before you get sick of not drilling me into the mattress and dump me for a chesty T.A. who can show you a good time?"

"The rest of my life," Blair answered softly, his hand stroking over Jim's arm where it crossed the younger man's waist.

"I feel the same way, Chief. We're going to be together the rest of our lives. Let's just relax a while. We can keep each other from a nasty case of blue balls while we're waiting. Beyond that, why worry about it?"

"But sticking it into something hot and tight is the sensation you're used to."

"Unlike you, who have been celibate for the last five years."

"Okay, so it's what I'm used to too." Blair had a little smile in his voice.

"We're both used to topping. Neither one of us knows the first thing about bottoming."

"Is that a word?"

"You're asking _me_?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I'm s'posed to be the expert, huh?"

"That would be you, yes," Jim agreed, yawning widely.

"I can see you're all shaken up about this." Blair chuckled a little.

"We've had a rotten day, we've both come once tonight, I say we call it a day and get some sleep."

Blair smiled to himself as he remembered Starsky's advice: if it doesn't work out, jerk each other off and go to sleep and forget about it. He let out a pent up breath and settled into Jim's arms.

"Love you, Jim."

"Love you too, Chief. Everything'll be okay." Jim let himself relax as he felt the tension leave Blair's body.

* * *

"This has to be the biggest waste of time we've gotten into yet," Hutch declared, visibly frustrated as he got up and paced around their temporary office. "Not one of these people ended up bad off enough to want Sandburg dead or even maimed a little. Most of them don't have enough money to hire muscle, half of them honestly didn't remember him by name..." He picked up his coffee and took a drink. "Maybe we better go back to looking at Ellison's past."

"You've gotta learn to relax a little, blintz," Starsky moved up behind his partner and squeezed the other man's ass through his jeans. 

"Shit, Starsk," Hutch sputtered, choking on his coffee and setting the cup down to face his partner. "Give a guy a little warning."

"Consider yourself warned, babe," Starsky retorted, sliding his arms around Hutch's waist. "Wanna see how sturdy the desk really is?" he asked, flexing his eyebrows lecherously and grinning evilly.

"Someone could walk in that door any minute."

"If you're trying to turn me off, that wasn't the approach to use, blondie." He pulled the slightly taller man down for a prolonged kiss, melting Hutch's resistance as easily as he always did. He felt his lover's long arms wrap around him tightly, pulling him close. Soon, a long-fingered hand wandered down to Starsky's ass, kneading the flesh through the denim.

"I got that printout back from--" Jim froze in the doorway, papers in hand, not sure if he should go back out again or finish his entrance. The door had just been pushed around to the frame, and he had been with the two detectives fifteen minutes earlier. Knocking hadn't seemed necessary. "Uh, I, uh..."

"That's okay," Starsky said cheerfully. "You caught us before I threw him on the desk. No harm done."

"I'll get you for that later, babe," Hutch promised under his breath, of course unaware that Jim could hear everything with crystal clarity.

"I'm countin' on it," Starsky replied pleasantly, as if they'd just made a lunch date. "So, do we have anything new?"

"Well, I've been checking out everyone connected to Slater. His mother's still alive, but she's pushing 90. His father's been dead about six years, natural causes. He has two brothers--"

"One's in the state pen in California for rape and aggravated assault, and the other's a flunky for a suspected mob boss," Hutch supplied. "We know all this crap already."

"So what was I running the damn check for?" Jim tossed the folder on the desk, more than a little annoyed to have been sent off to do what sounded like busy work. It had taken quite a while to define the parameters of the report for the computer, a process Jim didn't enjoy to begin with, and now, they acted as if they already knew everything contained in the results.

"You ran the check to see if there was anything new," Hutch responded just as Blair came through the door with a large bag of breakfast take-outs.

"I could have had someone in the file room do that. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a fucking file clerk."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved." Starsky reached into the bag and started fishing out omelets, passing them around according to the scrawled omelet titles on the wrappers. All they needed was another horn-locking episode with Ellison.

"Everything okay?" Blair asked, hesitantly accepting a wrapped omelet from Starsky. 

"If you felt running a report on Slater was too menial, I apologize for asking you to do it. We did need to know if there was anything new on him."

"You'll have to forgive me. I was a detective before I became an errand boy," Jim shot back, then grimaced. "I'm a little on edge this morning. Sorry."

"I'll get us some coffee," Blair offered, getting up and leaving the room. Starsky glanced down at the mostly full cups sitting around on the desk. 

"Is he okay?" he asked Jim, who just shrugged. 

"Why are you so worried about Sandburg?" Jim asked, tired of the other cop's obvious interest in his partner. Jim still didn't pick up on anything sexual in it, but it unnerved him nonetheless.

"He's a good kid. I was just concerned about him." Detecting he had overstepped some kind of line with Ellison, Starsky fell silent and opened his omelet.

"Blair's fine. This whole case has just been a hard one for him." Jim opened his own breakfast, trying to ease a little of the tension in the air between them. He hoped some of the tension he felt over the previous night's bedroom disaster would ease before he decapitated someone.

* * *

Blair continued to be silent and withdrawn most of the day, and Ellison had stuck close to him like a jealous pit bull. Starsky had given up on finding an opportunity to draw the younger man out a bit. Ellison wouldn't get five feet away from the kid at any time.

"Penny for your thoughts, Gordo," Hutch said, sitting behind Starsky where the dark-haired man was perched on the side of the hotel bed. Large hands began working the knots out of Starsky's tense shoulders.

"Nothin' special, babe. I was just wondering what was eating Blair all day."

"You really care about that kid, don't you?" Hutch asked, no trace of jealousy in his voice. If Starsky had harbored any plans to cheat, he'd had ample opportunities to do it before this.

"God that feels good."

"Just call me 'magic fingers'," Hutch quipped, continuing his work.

"Among other things." Starsky smiled and imagined the one that probably graced Hutch's features. "I like Blair. He's smart, he's got guts...and he cares about people. That's a good combination. He would have made a good cop."

"He'd never harden up enough," Hutch said simply. "He's a scholar...a teacher. He doesn't have the mean streak you need to survive a long stint on the streets. I'm not saying that's a bad thing."

"I met his mother."

"When?"

"Long time ago. Late 60's. We were both at a music festival." Starsky laughed a little. "I only knew her name as 'Sunflower'. I just happened to think that I forgot to ask Blair what it really was."

"Another notch on the Starsky belt, huh?" Hutch teased, reaching around the front of his lover to start unbuttoning his shirt.

"Something like that. It wasn't anything more than a one-night stand. At least not to her. I liked her. But we got separated in a crowd, and she disappeared. I couldn't find her, and she obviously didn't want to find me, so that was that."

"What's she doing now?" Hutch asked, pulling the opened shirt out of Starsky's jeans and off his shoulders.

"He didn't say. I guess she never married. Still a free spirit," Starsky replied, leaning back against his partner, closing his eyes and smiling as Hutch's hands slid down from his shoulders and rubbed over his nipples.

"No wonder the kid latched onto you. He's probably a little lacking in the father figure category."

"Probably. Oh, yeah," Starsky sighed, feeling his nipples rising to hard pebbles. Remembering that he had plans of his own for his partner, he stood and turned around to face Hutch. "I'm drivin' tonight, babe," he announced, pulling his partner into a tight embrace, claiming his mouth thoroughly. Hutch gave him a yank that sent them both sprawling back on the bed. 

"Oh yeah?" he challenged. 

"So that's how you wanna play it, eh, blondie?" Starsky got a hold of his partner's wrists and pinned them to the mattress. 

"I suppose you think you can get our clothes off and keep my wrists down at the same time, mushbrain?" Hutch chortled a little. "Go for it. I've been dying to see you unzip your fly with your toes. Of course, you'd have to get your shoes off first."

"God, why did I ever hook up with you? What a smart ass."

"It was my phenomenal sexual stamina."

"It sure as hell wasn't your spirit of cooperation."

"Hey, if you let go of my arms, I promise not to make a run for it."

"Yeah? Well, you wouldn't get far." Starsky released the hostage arms and sat back so he was straddling his lover's body. 

"Can you seriously tell me you don't want me to use my hands while we make love?" Hutch asked, running the newly freed hands up the insides of Starsky's thighs.

"I got some plans for your mouth, too," Starsky replied, opening Hutch's shirt and diving down to torture a nipple to hardness. He licked his way to its mate, sliding along the satiny skin. Hutch was as hairless here as Starsky was hairy. //Yin and yang,// Starsky thought, remembering how Hutch had described them the first time they tried a 69 together. Hutch, the long, smooth blond and Starsky, the slightly smaller but powerfully built, hairy brunet.

The two men wrestled playfully, finally disposing of the last of their clothing, hands and mouths in constant motion. Hutch slid into position and Starsky moved up so his hardening cock was in reach of his lover's mouth. In one fluid movement, Hutch swallowed him whole.

Hands dropping on the headboard for support, Starsky tried to control his instinctive thrusts, grunting in pleasure at the amazing sensations ripping through his cock and spreading throughout his body. Hutch's long fingers gripped Starsky's ass, kneading the firm globes and letting his fingers wander to the valley between them.

Starsky slowly withdrew from the hot, wet ecstasy of Hutch's mouth. 

"Want to finish in you, babe," he grunted, moving so Hutch could roll over on his stomach. He grabbed the lube while Hutch raised up on his hands and knees.

After years of lovemaking, prolonged preparations weren't really necessary anymore. Still, neither of them liked giving up the intimacy of lubricating and stretching his lover. 

Starsky spread a layer of the gel on his straining shaft and positioned himself at Hutch's center, sliding inside in one long, steady stroke. Hutch grunted a little and both men paused while the muscles in the snug passage adjusted to the expansion. Then Starsky began moving, and Hutch began thrusting back to meet him. The pace grew steadily until the rapid strokes vibrated the bed. Hutch grabbed onto the very useful headboard and began moaning with every stroke. 

Reaching under his partner to pump his engorged cock, Starsky angled his strokes to hit Hutch's prostate. The shout from the blond brought a pleased smile to Starsky's face, which soon faded as the intensity of his own desire overtook him. 

"Yeah, babe, like that...fuck me...hard..." Hutch's strained words were almost enough to make Starsky come even without the phenomenal feeling of those clenching internal muscles squeezing his pumping cock.

Hutch reached his climax first, and the internal spasms dragged a howl of pleasure from Starsky, who drove in hard in a few final strokes, shooting his completion into his lover's body and slumping with Hutch on the bed in a heap of sweaty flesh.

"Told ya I was gonna drive," Starsky whispered in Hutch's ear, smiling and seeing the creasing near Hutch's eye that told him his partner was grinning too.

"Only because I let you win," Hutch countered in a drowsy voice.

"Love you, babe," Starsky said softly, carefully withdrawing from Hutch's body. They shifted onto their sides to face each other.

"Love you too, love." Hutch smiled again and brushed a stray curl away from Starsky's forehead, then let his hand get tangled in thick hair. It had barely changed at all in eighteen years...it was just a little longer now, and Starsky wasn't working as hard to tame it as he had in the past. "You want to tell me what's bothering you now?" Hutch asked.

"After what we just did? Absolutely nothin'," Starsky replied, kissing Hutch's lips and rubbing noses with him.

"You've got something on your mind."

"Yeah, and maybe fifteen years ago, I coulda done more than think about it, but I'm wiped out for tonight."

"I'm serious, babe. What's eating you?"

"Besides the fact we just totaled another hotel bedspread?"

Hutch raised up a little to survey the damage, then shrugged. 

"Besides that," he persisted.

"I'm worried about Sandburg."

"Any special reason?"

"Something seemed really wrong with him today." Starsky sighed. "He and Jim haven't done it yet. At least, as of yesterday, they hadn't."

"He told you that?" Hutch frowned, a little shocked that Sandburg had confided so much in Starsky.

"He's nervous about the relationship. He's never been with a guy that way before. You remember all the shit we went through."

"Yeah, only too well." Hutch let out a long breath. "You think something happened last night?"

"I don't know. I just hope he isn't...hurt or anything."

"He seemed to be moving around okay. We walked around like we'd been horseback riding for a week." Hutch laughed a little, and Starsky joined him. 

"I remember...the first time wasn't too easy."

"Not really, no." Hutch relaxed and let his eyes drift shut, happy he only had to anticipate a very mild tenderness from their wild encounter, unlike the aches and pains the early days had caused.

"I don't even know the kid very well, but I care what happens to him." Starsky shook his head slightly. "Maybe it's because of Sunflower."

"Did you love her?"

"At the time, I think I was starting to. She was pretty, smart, loving, sexy as hell...and she had a laugh like music." Starsky smiled at the memory. "She was like the ideal vision of a flower child. I was pretty gone on her. I guess the feeling wasn't mutual though, because she never looked me up, and I was at my campsite another full day and night after she disappeared in the crowd. I helped a security guy break up a fight, and when I turned back to look for her, she was gone. I think she freaked when she saw me help a cop."

"Didn't you tell her you were in the academy?"

"I started to, but she told me that whoever I was on the outside, I could leave behind. That I was someone else, I was in touch with my real self and free to experience a new consciousness while I was there. Or something like that. So I was Davey and she was Sunflower and that was it. Tracking her down later was impossible with nothing more to go on than that, and I kind of figured she didn't want to be tracked. Maybe seeing me do my bit with the security guard to break up the fight drove home to her what I was. I was part of the establishment she was fighting."

"So maybe you're transferring a little of how you felt about his mother onto Blair?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. Not the romantic part. I got that covered already," Starsky added, grinning and taking time out to share a few slow, lazy kisses with his partner. "But maybe just some of the old leftover feelings, whatever they really are now. Maybe I just see some of her in him."

"Whatever the reason, I don't think you have to worry. Ellison seems pretty protective. I don't think he'll be rough on the kid." Hutch shook his head. "He is kind of a strange one, though."

"Ellison?"

"Yeah. When we went to look through that crack house, I felt like I was taking one of the tracking dogs from Narcotics." Hutch snorted a little laugh. "I've never seen anybody go over a crime scene that way. I thought I was going to show _him_ something about being thorough."

"Gave you a run for your money, eh, blondie?"

"That's not exactly what I mean. He was...well, strange. We found a cigarette butt the forensics people missed because he _smelled_ it. He kept saying he smelled stale cigarette smoke, and then there it was."

"Must have a sensitive sniffer." Starsky began to find Hutch's neck very interesting as he kissed and nibbled his way along the blond's jawline, moving downward on the long throat.

"My sniffer tells me it's time to hit the showers."

"I thought you'd never ask," Starsky retorted, flexing his eyebrows.

* * *

Jim looked over at Blair, and sighed with frustration. The other man was wrapped up in his favorite plaid robe, stocking feet tucked under him on the other couch, watching television. Or rather, staring at it. //You'd think I'd raped him last night the way he's hiding on the other side of the room from me.// Jim took another handful of popcorn and shoveled it into his mouth. This evening was worse than a bore and a disaster; it was destructive. The strain would just keep building between them until the cord holding them together snapped. 

Sick of the silence from Blair, Jim snapped off the TV and set the remote next to him. It seemed to take Blair a moment to even notice the screen was dark. He looked at Jim with confusion plain on his face. Confusion and a bit of panic.

"I think we need to talk about last night." Jim couldn't believe he had to prod Blair to talk. It was such a reversal of roles that Jim felt himself tumbling into the Twilight Zone at warp speed.

"What's to talk about? I couldn't do it."

"You're insisting on making this your fault. It isn't." Jim exhaled loudly. "It's probably mine. I wanted sex last night. I didn't particularly want to 'make love'. I was horny and overheated. I should have never just started poking at you that way. Mr. Dildo Expert here should have practice what he preached."

"I don't want something hard and artificial stuck up my ass, Jim."

"I have one that's smaller than I am. It might help you...get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it, okay?! It hurt and I don't want to do it again! Happy now?" Blair turned his face away again, and his breathing held the threat of tears. "I don't know what to do, man. I _hated_ it."

"When did you start hating it, sweetheart?" Jim asked gently, moving over to sit near Blair. "Please relax, Chief. I'm not going to jump your bones because I sit by you."

"I'm sorry," Blair responded through tears. "I just...it hurt when you tried to penetrate me."

"My fingers were okay?"

"Yeah." Blair nodded.

"Baby, three fingers actively stretching you weren't really much smaller than my cock. I worked at stretching you. I think you were just scared. That's natural." Jim caressed Blair's hair.

"I don't want to try it again. Maybe we oughtta just admit this isn't working."

"Tell me what's not working, sweetheart. Is it just the sex?"p > " _Just_ the sex? Jim, that's the only difference between us now, and us _before_."

"That's not entirely true, Chief. We had a good time last night before...we hit a rough spot. We wouldn't have had any kind of sex together before, and we sure weren't making any pledges of eternal love before. That's a lot more than just one sex act."

"So you're going to live without penetrating your partner for the rest of your life?" Blair shook his head. "That's crazy." Blair stood up and walked over to the windows. "I...I guess I just needed someone to be close to after the kidnapping...I was scared. And you were so good to me. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Jim sat on the couch, unable to move, everything in his chest constricting into a knot until he wasn't sure if it was the physical sensation of his heart breaking or the beginnings of a heart attack. He'd heard of men younger than himself keeling over, and losing Blair would be enough to do it to him. If Blair had plunged their largest carving knife into his chest up to the handle, it couldn't have hurt more than this moment did. 

When the silence became deafening, Blair turned away from the window. He had never seen Jim look quite the way he did at that moment. His skin was snow white, his eyes glassy, his breathing almost...suspended. It wasn't exactly a zone out...it was worse somehow, if that was possible.

"Jim?" Blair moved to the couch and sat facing his stone-faced partner. "Jim, come on, man, snap out of it!" He patted a cheek that was cool to the touch. "Jim, please, follow my voice. Concentrate on my voice and come back," Blair repeated, trying to stay calm. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as Jim blinked a time or two and stared at him.

"Did I zone out on you?" he asked, his voice a bit rough.

"Yeah, big time. I don't think you were even breathing, man. Do you feel okay?"

"Not really. Look, I think I'm going to go up and turn in. You can...join me if you want or if you want to sleep down here... I won't bother you." Jim pushed himself up off the couch and headed for the bathroom, his steps looking more weary that Blair ever recalled.

"Jim."

The other man didn't answer, but he stopped, keeping his back to Blair.

"I...I'm sorry about what I said...about just needing someone after the kidnapping."

"You shouldn't apologize for telling the truth. If that's how you feel, it's better to be honest about it," Jim managed, angry that his voice came out so strained and shaky.

"But that _isn't_ how I feel. Dammit, Jim, I don't know how I feel. I know I love you. I know I want us to be more than friends. I know what happened between us before everything went to hell last night felt great. I just don't know how realistic it is for us to keep trying to do this when I can't stand the thought of trying...of, you know, trying it again."

"Blair, I would gladly die before I'd hurt you, I think you know that." Jim finally turned around, but stayed out near the kitchen. "I will never touch you that way unless I get a green light from you. I don't want you lying in bed afraid that I'm going to start poking around in a way that hurts you or makes you uncomfortable." Jim ran his hand back over his hair. "I don't want to lose you, or what's between us now."

"Neither do I."

"What if I go first?" Jim offered. "It's not written anywhere that it _has_ to be you."

"I won't do to you something I can't endure. If it's too painful for me, I couldn't bring myself to do it to you." Blair looked down and sighed. "I have to get past this. And the thing is, I don't even really know why it's such a...a _thing_ with me. Your fingers were fine, and I was getting into it. But when I knew it was coming, and you got started, I just...couldn't deal with it, and when I got scared, it hurt really badly, and I couldn't relax..." Blair shrugged. "I don't know how to change that."

"Maybe time'll change it. Just being together a while, moving slowly in bed...maybe that'll help."

"I still want to sleep with you, if that's okay. And I...I want us to be able to make love. I just...can't deal with...'the big one' yet."

"Then we won't deal with it for now." Jim moved over to where Blair sat. "I'm still going to take a leak and crash." He kissed the top of Blair's head. "Come up when you're ready, huh?"

"I won't be far behind you," Blair replied, grinning. "Jim--I love you. I really do."

"I know you do. I love you too, sweetheart. We'll work things out. Don't worry, huh?" He patted Blair's face lightly and headed for the bathroom.

Continued in part six.


	6. Chapter 6

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from five. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part six  
by Candy Apple

Starsky came out of the restaurant with a large bag and a carrier bearing two coffees. Hutch leaned over and opened the driver's door of the unmarked Cascade PD sedan they were using.

"So what do you want to do this mornin'?" Starsky asked, settling in the seat and entrusting the coffee to Hutch to put in the beverage holders in the car. He began digging in the bag.

"What do you do for excitement on a Thursday morning in Cascade, I wonder?" Hutch accepted the breakfast sandwich, having adopted a few of his partner's unhealthy eating habits over the years. There was something much more appealing about a hot English muffin with egg, cheese and sausage on it that there was about a tub of clammy yogurt.

"Well," Starsky sighed and looked around them, "there's the Fountain Centre Mall," he nodded toward the sprawling structure across the street.

"We don't have enough malls in L.A." Hutch continued eating. "Do they have anything cultural around here?"

"There's a maritime museum. Remember at dinner, Blair mentioned that Lash character, and Ellison said something about chasing the look alike around a maritime museum?"

"I guess that would be good to kill a couple hours."

"I, uh, thought maybe we could stop by the University and see how Blair's doing later. He's supposed to go back to his office this morning."

"Ellison's with him, isn't he?"

"Probably." Starsky picked at his sandwich, then stared out the windshield. "Hutch...you don't think maybe..." Starsky's voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "Nah. That's a long shot."

"What?"

"Well, I was thinkin'. Blair's 29, so he musta been born in '69. I met his mom in the fall of '68...and we had one night together..." Starsky was quiet a moment, then he laughed a little. "Like I said, a real long shot."

"It only takes one time to do the deed, Starsk. It's possible. But what about the man he knew as his father?" Hutch had been through the same thought process in his mind as soon as he learned about the connection between Starsky and Sandburg's mother. His partner and the long-haired police observer had taken to each other like...well, long lost relatives. And Sandburg had those deep blue eyes, all those curls, that zest for life... Not unlike someone else Hutch knew only too well.

"He never mentioned a father. Not even as someone he visited once in a while or ever even knew. I guess it's possible that his dad didn't want anything to do with his mother once she got pregnant. Maybe he didn't know him."

"Is this wishful thinking or a hunch, babe?" Hutch asked gently.

"Both," Starsky admitted, taking a drink of his coffee. "There's a part of me that...sometimes...I think about having a son...what it would've been like. I mean, there's no way I'd change a second of the last 20 years--even getting shot by Gunther's goons--that brought us together. I just wonder sometimes."

"You don't have to explain. I wonder too. And I feel the same way."

"It's just...if I had a son, I would like to think he'd be like Blair--smart, capable...and with a good heart."

"Maybe you should talk to him about it."

"Maybe I just need to find out about his father."

"Or you need to get his mother's name and get a hold of her. There's not much point in rattling Sandburg's cage for nothing right now. He's got enough going on."

"You're right."

"You want to go see him."

"I know they got his office cleaned up, and he was going back in there, and I thought maybe he could use some moral support."

"You probably better find out about this situation pretty soon, Starsk. You're starting to piss off Ellison the way you're hanging around Blair all the time."

"His student assistant was murdered and another mutilated body was left in his office. This is going to be one hell of a hard morning for him." Starsky shook his head. "I know it shouldn't matter, but it does."

"Sounds like a 'dad' instinct to me," Hutch responded, taking another bite of his food. "Let's take run over there and see if you can discreetly get his mother's name. We'll spend the rest of the morning hunting her down so we can get to the bottom of this."

* * *

"You're sure you'll be okay here?" Jim asked, hovering by the door of Blair's office. Everything was immaculate. As soon as they had been given the all-clear by the police, the University's custodial staff had scoured every trace of the dead man's presence, and a new chair sat in front of Blair's desk, replacing the other one which had been hopelessly blood-soaked. Thankfully, Blair hadn't seen the crime scene at all.

"I have to be. I've got stuff to do, and I have to come in here and do it now or I'll feel crawly about it forever."

"Okay. I'm going to have the cell phone. Call me if you need anything, baby." Jim crossed the room one more time and kissed Blair's mouth quickly. "I love you."

"I love you too," he responded, grinning.

"You free tonight?" Jim asked.

"Uh...yeah... Why?"

"I was thinking expensive dinner, movie...maybe a little something special after the movie."

"Like what?" Blair narrowed his eyes.

"Like something I can get set up if I have a 'yes'."

"Sounds great, but what's the something special?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out, Chief." Jim hesitated by the door. "I still don't like leaving you here all day."

"Jim, this is what I do. I'm fine. I have a ton of stuff to do to catch up, and I can't put it off any longer."

"Okay. I'll pick you up around six, and we can go home and change, and then head out for the evening, huh?"

"Yeah. Sounds great." Blair smiled, then became serious. "Jim, are you sure you're okay? I mean, last night, you didn't look so hot."

"I feel fine now," he replied honestly, flashing Blair one of those perfect smiles that always melted the other man where he stood.

* * *

Blair had to admit that spending a lot of time alone in his office wasn't what he would have picked out, but it had to be done. Getting past the fact that the last person to occupy his office had been a mutilated dead man was paramount to his ability to keep working in the room at all. 

He busied himself calling Jennifer's mother and expressing his condolences. He also found the woman was pleased to talk with him as he was able to explain to her a few of the official hold-ups that were delaying the release of her daughter's body. All in all, it was a grim conversation, but he at least felt he had helped Jennifer's family in some small way. 

After hanging up, he picked up the stack of papers from his students that had been turned in to the substitute in his absence. Forcing himself to concentrate, he started plowing through them.

"Mornin', professor," Starsky greeted from where he stood in the doorway.

"Hey, Starsky. What brings you over here? Something about the case?"

"I was just curious to see your office--well, under the right circumstances." He walked the rest of the way in the room, and Blair moved to clear off the other chair near the desk.

"It's a little messy. I'm like, _way_ behind right now."

"I can leave if you're busy."

"No!" Blair hastened to correct the wrong impression. "I'm glad for the company. I chased Jim out of here earlier, and it's getting a little...depressing." He sighed. "I talked with Jennifer's mom. That was rough."

"I can imagine. Talking to the parents is probably the hardest thing to do in a murder case." Starsky was delighted with the easy shift into the parent discussion. "Which reminds me, I never asked you what your mom's name was. I can't believe she wandered around as 'Sunflower' all the time."

"No," Blair responded, laughing. "Even _I_ never heard that one. Her name's Naomi. I've got a more recent photo of her right over here." He reached across the cluttered desk and brought a framed 5x7 into Starsky's view, handing it to the older man.

"Naomi. She's still beautiful," he commented, smiling.

"I think so," Blair said honestly. "She's always been pretty."

"You look like her."

"Maybe a little."

"Do you take more after your dad?" //Time to move in for the kill, Starsky,// he thought to himself.

"I don't know about that," Blair replied quietly. There was a slight hint of a flush that crept into his cheeks. "I, uh, never met him."

"Oh. Well, that's not too unusual, if your mom was a single parent. A lot of unmarried dads don't hang around and do right by their kids."

"I wonder sometimes, though...what he was like. I would've just liked to have seen him someday. I wouldn't bother him or anything. I mean, I'd understand completely if he didn't want to hear from me."

"It'd be his loss."

"Thanks." Blair smiled and accepted the photo back from Starsky, replacing it on the desk.

"What did your mom tell you about him? Anything?"

"Uh...not really." Blair seemed uneasy now, and while Starsky wanted the information, he hated himself for pinning Blair down on something that was obviously not an easy subject for him. "She, uh, well, you know how the whole hippie culture was then. She...wasn't, uh, 100% sure...who..."

"I see. Yeah, after spending some time at that music festival, I can see how that could happen real easily. It was a whole mindset--the whole free love thing." Starsky leaned back in his chair. "I didn't spend much time around hippies, to be honest, but I did go to a few concerts and hang around on the beach once in a while, so I have a pretty good idea what the culture was."

"Usually I tell people that, and I know they're thinking my mom's some kind of...well, they're thinking something that isn't very positive, anyway. Jim was great about it--he gets along great with Naomi, and he never said anything really negative about the whole thing. Not that anyone should. She was just living according to the principles of her generation."

"You can't always judge somebody else based on a few old stereotypes. At least you shouldn't." Starsky looked around. "So tell me about your classes this semester. What exactly do you teach?"

* * *

Hutch flipped through the pages of "American School  & University", wondering how much longer Starsky was going to bond with Sandburg. If they were going to run a check on the kid's mother, and still be at the PD by one o'clock to meet with Ellison and Banks about the case, they needed to get a move on. He was about to dispense with the first magazine and move on to something equally titillating, like a month-old issue of "The Chronicle of Higher Education", when he picked up on his partner's voice, animated and tinged with a little laughter, alternating with Sandburg's voice as the two men walked down the hall together. Blair was all gestures and expressions as they came into Hutch's range of view, enthusiastically describing something with an energy Hutch only saw mirrored in his own life partner when he was excited about something.

"Hey, blondie, Blair wants to show us around over at the Fine Arts Building. He set up an exhibit of Mayan art over there a couple months ago that's still being shown," Starsky explained.

"Sounds great." Hutch rose from the chair he'd been occupying and fell into step with the other two men. 

As the wind picked up, colored leaves swirled down from the many trees surrounding the walkway they were following to the building that housed the Art and Music departments. Their ears picked up the sounds of diligent piano practicing as they moved through the double doors into the main hallway of the building. A couple of students carrying hefty instrument cases passed them in the hall, chattering away about the upcoming band practice.

Blair led the way to the art gallery, and they moved through the aisles of displayed paintings and sculptures to a small area that contained various pieces of pottery and a few wall hangings. Blair went into great detail with each one, describing how it had been acquired, happy to discuss his role in the project at length. Hair pulled back in a pony tail, glasses in place, Blair even took on the tone of a professor as he educated the two detectives on the pieces they were viewing. 

"I guess that's about it," Blair concluded, after explaining the history of the final vase.

"Thanks for the guided tour," Hutch spoke up. "I think we better get going, Starsk."

"Yeah, you're right," Starsky agreed, checking his watch. "Are you going to be at the station later?" he asked Blair.

"No. I'm going to catch up here today. I'll probably be seeing you tomorrow."

"Probably," Hutch agreed as they started back outside. After saying their goodbyes, Blair hurried up the walk back to his building.

"Naomi Sandburg. And she still lives in L.A.," Starsky said, smiling slightly. "I think I'm going to have a little chat with Naomi."

"Think we should have some urgent business back home?" Hutch asked, knowing how anxious his partner was to get to the bottom of this question as soon as possible.

"The case isn't exactly moving at rapid fire pace. We really aren't _needed_ here that badly anymore. I think we should make a quick trip back home so I can pay Naomi a visit. I don't think I should handle this on the phone."

* * *

Blair spent most of the day sifting through backed up papers to grade, returning phone calls and generally immersing himself in his professional life again. Back at the U, doing what he did best, it seemed that Slater finally wasn't controlling his life anymore. 

There was a prevailing melancholy feeling about the day as he moved through it without seeing Jennifer burst through the door of his office, prattling on about her last class or informing him on the latest news from the student grapevine. Jenny was bright and talented, and a good student. She wasn't, however, grad school-bound, nor was she particularly academic by nature. Her interests were mostly those of the average 21-year-old. Nonetheless, she was reliable, took her job seriously, and kept Blair's office neat and organized despite its sloppy occupant who had the tendency to stack his materials wherever he found a blank space.

Blair had seen Jenny through two major boyfriend crises and her first mammoth hangover in the two years she'd worked for him. He still had to smile at the memory of her staggering into the office like a zombie that morning and cringing at every sound. On the flipside, Jenny had been there for Blair through a number of rough spots. She had been a wonderful listener as he'd poured out his reminiscences about Professor Buckner after his death, and knowing how much Emily Watson's death had shaken him up, Jenny had rescheduled vacation plans to stay around and work with Blair for a couple weeks after it happened. It wasn't until now, when she was dead and gone, that Blair really made the connection of why she'd changed her time off. He'd been too preoccupied at the time to figure it out, and that was just the way Jenny was...supportive, but not showy about it. 

He let out a long, shaky sigh, and took an envelope out of the top middle drawer of his desk. Inside were photos taken at a birthday party Jenny had surprised him with a year earlier, having spread the word among the faculty and staff in the nearby buildings that it was Blair's birthday and that cake, ice cream and other treats could be had in his office. He smiled and felt a couple of tears trickle down his cheeks as he sorted through the pictures. One of them made him pause as he noticed he was standing with Emily Watson and a couple of other grad students, and the esteemed Professor Watson had her two fingers up behind Blair's head making rabbit ears for the camera.

"Dammit," Blair swore quietly, tossing the photos on the desk. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his afternoon grieving for lost friends and colleagues. But Jenny was his right hand person, his sidekick, his assistant--in a purely platonic sense, she was all the things to him that Blair was to Jim. She was his professional support system. She knew all about his projects, and when something wasn't going right, he could talk to her and not explain all the background. She knew. She had either typed the paper in question, hauled his research materials back and forth, gathered telephone survey data for him--she had a thank you in the acknowledgments of three of his most important published articles.

Blair sighed and gathered up the photos again, tucking them in their envelope and back in the drawer, trying not to remember that Jenny had even taken care of getting the film developed and had brought him the pictures as part of his birthday present.

Trying to shake off the depressing thoughts, he checked his watch. It was 5:45, almost time for Jim to pick him up. He sniffled a time or two and swiped at his eyes, determined not to make their first official evening out as lovers a miserable, depressing experience. But part of him couldn't help thinking that he'd already made their whole relationship a miserable, difficult experience for Jim. And whatever had swept over Jim in the moment in which Blair tried to swerve the relationship off its current course chilled Blair to the bone. Jim looked positively horrible, white, and still--as if he were one of the living dead. //Actually, more like one of the _dead dead_ ,// Blair thought, shuddering. //Living dead implies a sign of life. He wasn't even _breathing_.//

Feeling the weight of the world firmly planted on both shoulders, Blair got up and grabbed his coat. Turning out his office light and closing the door, he pulled on his coat and trudged down the hall toward the stairs, trying not to re-run in his mind all the horrendous activity this building had seen in the last 48 hours. He idly wondered when Jenny's body would be released for burial as he made his way across the dusky campus, pulling his coat tightly around himself. He noticed then that he'd left his backpack at the office, and honestly didn't care. All he wanted to do now was crawl into Jim's arms and pretend none of it existed.

* * *

Jim pulled up to the curb and watched the path for Blair's arrival. It wasn't long before the solitary figure came into view, coat clutched tightly around himself as if it were sub-zero outdoors instead of just brisk. The backpack wasn't clutched in either of the hands, one of which was buried in a pocket, the other keeping the coat close around his lover's body.

Blair opened the door and got in the truck, longing to slide over and lean on his partner, but not sure how the other man would react in the semi-public setting, with a few students visible as they made their way to evening classes.

"Everything okay, Chief?" Jim asked gently, knowing very well nothing was okay. Blair's eyes were puffy and slightly bloodshot, his breathing patterns indicated tension and...angst of some sort, and the very fact his precious backpack of paperwork had been left behind spoke volumes.

"Just a long day," Blair managed. 

"I know, baby. I can tell," he responded softly, reaching over to smooth back a stray curl that had escaped Blair's pony tail. "You want to stop and get some take outs and go home?"

"We had a date," Blair replied, taking a deep but shaky breath.

"We live together, sweetheart. Technically, we have sort of one big, long, running date. This is a change of plans. No big deal."

"It sounded like such a nice evening. You had special plans and everything."

"Plans can be changed. How about Saturday night? I mean, what kind of a date night is _Thursday_ anyway?"

"You sure you don't mind? God, I keep screwing up every time you try to do something for _us_."

"You didn't screw anything up, sweetheart." Jim reached over again and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "My timing for everything I've done has basically sucked. It's not you're fault your not feeling 100% okay about things."

"What'd I do to deserve you, huh?" Blair asked, smiling a little and catching Jim's hand in his.

"I don't know, Chief, but I hope you enjoyed it, because you're going to pay for it by being stuck with me until I croak."

"Promise?" Blair kissed the back of Jim's hand.

"Promise," he answered, smiling and reversing the angle of their hands so he could mirror Blair's gesture. "Let's go home and relax, huh?"

"I'm sorry about tonight."

"I'm not. I'm looking forward to tonight. Just you and me and a big bag food and the remote control." Jim smiled, and Blair laughed a little, still holding onto his lover's hand.

"Sounds like heaven."

* * *

"That's it," Starsky announced, pulling his bright red Firebird up to the curb, across the street from a modest but attractive white stucco house with arched windows and a small fountain in the front yard.

"So you think Harold's home?" Hutch asked, referring to the name of the property owner they'd found on the county clerk's records for the address associated with Naomi Sandburg.

"She just filed a change of address last month, so let's hope she's still here."

"You want company, or you want to do this solo?" Hutch asked.

"Solo. I think she's more likely to talk to me one on one."

"I think you're right. I'll wait for you out here. Take your time."

"Thanks." Starsky stared at the house a moment. "Maybe she's not even home."

"Do you want her to be home?" Hutch asked, drawing a little chuckle out of Starsky. 

"Yes and no. I guess it's been a nice fantasy."

"Maybe you'll get the answer you want."

"Yeah. Maybe. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, babe." Hutch reached over and squeezed Starsky's shoulder. The other man smiled and patted the squeezing hand, then got out and headed for the front door of the house.

He rang the bell and waited, then tapped on the wood firmly.

"Who is it?" a female voice inquired.

"Police, ma'am," he responded. It was true--he was a cop, but there was nothing official about his visit. He held up his ID for her to look at through the peephole. The lock clicked and the door opened. Naomi, his "Sunflower", stood before him in the doorway, dressed in what looked like a soft blue leotard under a pair of form-fitting jeans. Her short hair was a contrast from the long tresses he remembered, but her eyes still danced the way they had thirty years earlier.

"Yes, officer?"

"N-Naomi Sandburg?" he managed past the sudden dryness in his throat. It troubled him that no flicker of recognition crossed her pretty features.

"Yes."

"I...I'm David Starsky." He watched her pleasant but blank expression. 

"Do I know you?" she asked, smiling slightly.

"You did. A long time ago. Remember the music festival in 1968?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, Mr. Starsky," she replied, laughing a little. "I attended a lot of outdoor concerts and music festivals thirty years ago. I thought you were with the police."

"I am. I'm a detective with the Bay City PD. I...we met at a music festival, and I was in the academy, and we spent some time together," he managed, somewhat clumsily. "You called yourself 'Sunflower'."

"What is this about?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit.

"I've met your son, Blair. That's why I'm here."

"Is he all right?" she asked immediately.

"He's fine," Starsky replied, not sure how much she knew of Blair's recent ordeal. "But when I had dinner with Jim and Blair, I saw a photo of you he had, and I recognized you."

"What does your coming here have to do with Blair?"

"Possibly everything." Starsky sighed. "Could I step in for a minute? I feel a little strange talking about this on the porch."

"I think you should get to the point," she stated firmly.

"We spent the night together at that festival, and I lost you in the crowd the next day. I was helping a security guard break up a fight, and when I turned back to find you, you were gone." He watched as recognition dawned on her features. 

"Please, come in," she invited, stepping aside and closing the door behind him. The inside of the house was pleasant, decorated in various shades of beige and white. Some soft New Age music played on a CD player, and candles flickered on a low table in the middle of the room. "I was meditating," she explained, picking up a remote control and turning off the music.

"You remember me now?"

"Davey. I remember, yes," she said, nodding. "You were going to be a cop. When I saw you in action, it just reminded me what a mistake I would be making by spending any more time with you. I don't mean to be rude, but I have never felt any great affection for the police."

"So you wrote me off because I broke up a fight? Those two jerks could've killed each other, and the security guy who was handling it couldn't settle them down."

"You still haven't explained what this has to do with Blair. I understand that you've met him now, but that still--"

"We spent the night together in 1968. Blair was born nine months later. I think that's significant."

"I suppose you think he's automatically yours then?"

"How many men did you sleep with at that festival?" He demanded. He was stunned by the quick slap in the face that earned him.

"Get out," she said evenly.

"Not until you answer me." He stood his ground, staring at her with slightly wounded eyes. "Is he my son?" He watched as she turned away and started pacing.

"I don't know."

"Who are the other possibilities? Are they strong ones? Come on, give me something to work with here."

"Why does it matter now?" she asked.

"Because nothing would make me happier than to find out he was my son." That made Naomi's head snap up, and she looked Starsky in the eyes.

"Why?"

"Because he's everything I would have wanted my son to be. Because I won't ever have another child. Because if he's mine, he's family, and that's important to me. Because I already consider him a friend whether he's my child or not." Starsky swallowed, realizing how much her cooperation meant to him.

Her expression softened slightly, and she turned away a moment, taking a deep breath.

"I suppose you think it's horrible that I don't have an answer for you."

"No, I'm not judging you. Not at all. I can't lie and say that I don't wish things had turned out differently. I really cared about you, Sun--" he snickered at his own slip of the tongue, " _Naomi_ ," he corrected. "I never made love with a woman who didn't matter to me. I thought we had something special started."

"I did too. But I watched you click into your cop routine, and I knew we'd never make it." She turned back to face him. "Why don't we sit down?" She gestured toward the puffy ecru sofa. When they were both seated, she continued. "Davey, I spent my life protesting, demonstrating, trying to change things for the better. All I ever saw the cops doing was clubbing my friends with night sticks. When I realized what it meant, that you were going to be one of them...I fled. I ran away from you. Do you seriously picture me as a cop's wife?" she asked with a grin.

"It _is_ a stretch," Starsky admitted, smiling back.

"That weekend, I traveled to and from the festival with a good-sized group of people--men and women. I was involved with one of the guys, and we...were together the night before I met you. He wasn't really a forever love. Just a friend."

"So it's him or me?" Starsky asked, relieved to have narrowed the field.

"I wish it were that simple." She shifted her position on the couch so she could look out the picture window behind where they sat. "We were traveling in a camper--there were three women and four men. I'm probably not shocking you when I tell you we weren't feeling any pain," she said with a somewhat regretful smile.

"I think that was pretty common then."

"Well, I don't remember everything very clearly, but..." She took a deep breath and turned to have eye contact with Starsky again. "While I was riding home in the camper, one of the others...he was someone I had talked to, but never really liked _that way_..." She rolled her eyes and smiled again. "I didn't expect this to be so difficult all these years later." 

"Take your time," he said gently, venturing to cover her hand where it rested near his on the back of the couch. Her smile broadened briefly in reply.

"I don't remember the details. I was high. But I know that I said no, and he didn't listen. That part is very clear."

"He raped you?"

"I don't know if you could call it that. I was too languid to really fight or argue all that much. I know I didn't want him, but he kept after me. I know we had sex. I won't call it making love. I didn't love him, he didn't love me, and there was nothing meaningful about it."

"Your boyfriend let this go on?"

"My 'boyfriend' was just a male friend I...was intimate with sometimes. And he was passed out in the passenger seat of the camper at the time. I don't know as he ever knew anything happened between J.T. and me."

"You think this J.T. character is a contender too?"

"It's possible." She shook her head. "I didn't want to know who Blair's father was. One of them was a doped up rapist, one was just a casual friend I lost touch with before Blair was born, and the third..." She looked at Starsky again, then moved her hand so she could squeeze his. "One of them might have been the right one if we'd just been different people at the time."

"If we were different people...?"

"If I hadn't believed that the police were evil incarnate and if you hadn't been passionately committed to becoming one of them." She paused. "I didn't want to judge Blair by his father. If he had been J.T.'s, I don't know if I could have loved him the way he deserved to be loved, knowing how he was conceived. If he had been Mark's--my friend's--that might have been the lesser evil because at least we parted friends. But Mark met someone and got married when Blair was just six months old. And if he'd been yours," she began, then swallowed and continued, "I'd have always looked at him and seen love that was doomed from the start."

"Love?" Starsky asked, wondering if she'd really meant she loved him all those years ago. He had thought at the time that "Sunflower" loved him, but what was love to a hippie at a music festival anyway?

"Yes," she confirmed. "I thought about you often after leaving you that way. I wondered where you were, what you were doing. I almost looked you up a few times. But I didn't want my son raised by a cop. I didn't want him to grow up and carry a gun and live in a world of violence and hatred and ugliness." She chuckled a little. "Of course, now he works with Jim, riding shotgun," she commented, rolling her eyes again. "Life is ironic, isn't it?"

"For what it's worth, I wanted to find you again. I tried. But I couldn't get any information out of the hippie culture in LA. I had no real name to go by, no photo--just a description of a pretty, long-haired girl named 'Sunflower'."

"What do you want to do about this now?"

"I want to talk to Blair, and I want to have a paternity test done, if he's agreeable to it. It's too late for me to help raise him, but...I lost my own father when I was a kid, and I know that even now, I still wish he was around to talk to. Blair and I are becoming good friends. I think he might get something out of knowing who his father is, and knowing he's valued by that father."

"You didn't need my permission to do that."

"No, but I wanted your blessing. I also wanted to know if there was any chance of it being true. I didn't want to put Blair through the emotional paces for nothing."

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"What?"

"Don't hurt Blair. He's never had a father, not a worthwhile one, anyway. If this comes up negative...maybe you could keep in touch with him--at least for a little while. Let him down easily."

"I don't plan on letting him down at all, Naomi. I really have enjoyed Blair's company. Whether or not we share genetics, I still hope to have him as a friend for many years to come."

"Then you have my blessing to go ahead with it," she said. "I just didn't want Blair to be hurt by this now, and I don't think you'll do that."

"There's one other thing you ought to know about me."

"What?"

"I'm in a committed relationship with another man. Does that bother you?" //Wait 'til you find out what your little boy's up to if it does!//

"Why should it? Besides, I know it's only a matter of time before Blair and his roommate, Jim, stop doing this elaborate mating dance they've been doing for the last few years. I don't think love needs labels."

"I can see where Blair gets his tolerance and his open mind," Starsky responded, rising to stand. "I should go. My partner's waiting for me."

"I'd like to meet him sometime. Maybe another time?"

"I'd like that. Do you want to come back to Cascade with us to talk to Blair?"

"No. I'll call him tonight and let him know we've talked, and that the two of you have something important to discuss. Otherwise, he's probably not going to listen to you--he'll want my word that I know about it and am okay with it."

"Thanks, Naomi. Naomi," Starsky repeated, smiling back at her as he moved toward the door. "I think it suits you. Although, when I look in your eyes, I still see my Sunflower," he replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "No regrets?"

"No regrets," she said firmly, patting his cheek before he walked out the door and she closed it behind him.

* * *

Jim stirred at the first ring of the phone. Blair was already in motion, moving off his lover where they had sprawled together on the couch. 

"Hello?" Blair stifled a chortle as Jim pulled him back down into the larger man's lap. To his credit, he never missed a beat with the phone call. "Hi, Mom... No, this is fine. Jim and I were just watching TV."

"Hi, Mom," Jim called over Blair's shoulder. That earned him a flurry of shushing gestures from Blair, who, despite all his liberal attitudes, seemed little uneasy talking to his mother on the phone while sitting on his male lover's lap.

"Naomi says hi back," Blair reported, then returned to his call. They exchanged a few mundane words, and then Blair fell silent for quite a while, listening intently to whatever Naomi was telling him. Jim heard snatches of it, and knew it had something to do with Starsky, but made it a point to dial down his hearing unless he was invited to do otherwise when Blair was on the phone. "Mom, come on, why the mystery? Just tell me what this is about." Blair waited through what was obviously another explanation, and then sighed. "Okay... Yeah, I promise--I'll call tomorrow night." Blair rubbed the bridge of his nose, and suddenly looked very tired. "Is everything going okay with Harry?" he inquired after Naomi's boyfriend with whom she'd been living for the last six weeks. "But not that well, huh?" he responded to something she said, laughing. "Okay. Yeah. Love you too. 'Night, Mom." He broke the connection on the cordless phone and set it aside.

"Naomi's okay, I hope?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine. She said Starsky came to visit her today."

"I thought they flew back to Bay City on some kind of urgent business." Jim paused, frowning. "Did she say why?"

"She said he was going to be talking to me about something, and that I should keep an open mind about it and hear him out. She wants me to call her back tomorrow night." Blair wriggled out of Jim's clutches, standing and then pacing around the room. "I think I know what this is gonna be."

"What?" Jim asked, knowing perfectly well what scenario had popped into his mind.

"Why else would he go talk to Naomi?" Blair asked, turning to have eye contact with Jim. "They knew each other before. I'd say he wanted to get to know her again, rekindle old flames--but I think he and Hutch are pretty committed to each other."

"So do I."

"Do you think he's the one?" Jim asked directly, knowing they were both thinking the same thing.

"All these years...I've wondered so many times what he'd be like, what he'd look like...if he'd like me...if he would have wanted anything to do with me if he'd known about me..."

"Is Starsky anything like what you pictured?"

"He's a lot of the things I hoped for, but not much of what I pictured. He's never been a hippie in his life--"

"That's a pretty safe bet," Jim replied, laughing. 

"He's a cop. Man, talk about a bizarre twist of fate. But we have a really good rapport, you know?" Blair shook his head. "I kept feeling like there was _something_ , but I couldn't put my finger on it. There was some reason I sat down with him and spilled my guts the first day they were here. It was like I felt a familiarity and a connection. I can't explain it any better."

"I picked up on something, and I knew it wasn't sexual or romantic. But it was weird how he just...took to you."

"Oh, man." Blair plopped down on the couch and ran his hands back through his hair. "Wouldn't the joke be on me if he wants to talk to me about something totally different now?" Blair's laugh was shaky and nervous at best. Jim moved forward and enclosed Blair in his arms, pulling him back to rest with his head on the larger man's shoulder. 

"It wouldn't be any joke, sweetheart. I know how much this means to you. I hope it turns out the way you want it to."

"It would be so good to know. All this time...I was afraid maybe it was something really...terrible. You know, like maybe he was a criminal or a pervert or some kind. Somebody Naomi wanted to keep me away from."

"You said before you believed her when she said she didn't know."

"I did...but I also knew it was possible there was some other explanation. Maybe it was worse than a mistake. Maybe it was something she really actively didn't want to happen."

"Even if you were conceived under the worst possible circumstances, Chief, something wonderful came out of it." He kissed the top of Blair's head. "You know Naomi loves you."

"I know. But sometimes...she was gone so much...she still is. I sometimes wondered if I reminded her of...of _whomever_ it was, and it wasn't a good memory."

"Let's keep good thoughts for now, huh, Chief? It looks like you've got a real positive option in the cards."

"I guess...I wanted to find out all this time, and I've been so curious, and there's been this big... _void_... Now that finding out is a possibility, it scares the hell out of me." Blair sighed. "What if he thinks I'm a dork? I mean, Starsky's been really polite to me, and he's shown interest in my work at the U, but how much of that is just being polite?"

"The interest is genuine, sweetheart. I couldn't discern the origins of it, but that much I'll tell you. He really is as interested in you and what you do as he seems to be."

"I'm glad." Blair was quiet a while.

"Ready to call it a night?"

"Yeah. I have a feeling I might need my sleep for tomorrow."

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts, babe," Hutch said quietly as he joined his lover on the deck of their house, overlooking the beach. The moon painted the edges of the black waves in silver, and the light breeze carried the fresh smell of the ocean up to where the two men stood. 

Starsky accepted the beer Hutch brought out to him, and happily accepted the embrace that enclosed him from behind.

"Just thinking through some 'what ifs', I guess," Starsky replied honestly. "If all this turns out to be true...if he's my son...I missed the whole thing, Hutch. His birth, his first steps, his first day of school...all his graduations..."

"He doesn't have his Ph.D. yet," Hutch added.

"No, you're right, he doesn't." Starsky leaned back into the solid support of his partner's body, still amazed how one of Hutch's soft-voiced observations could almost always make whatever was wrong, better.

"I think that's going to be a pretty big 'dad' moment."

"I want that. I don't have any claim on him or his accomplishments, even if he's mine. But I want it to be true, Hutch. I want it so damn bad."

"I know, love." Hutch kissed Starsky's temple and squeezed tighter. "For what it's worth, I think he's yours."

"Really?" Starsky asked, his voice rising a bit.

"Really. He's a lot like you."

"You think so?"

"His enthusiasm, some of his interests, his energy, his dedication...yeah, he's a chip off the old block all right."

"We don't know he's my chip yet, babe."

"We'll find out. Meanwhile, I think we ought to get a good night's sleep. That flight leaves at dawn."

"You think I should call him?"

"No. It's late. Let him get some rest. After Naomi called him, I'm sure he's got a pretty good idea what's up, and he's probably trying to deal with it himself right now. Let's just start fresh tomorrow."

"Hutch? About those 'what ifs' I mentioned?"

"Yeah?"

"None of 'em woulda been worth givin' this up, babe. I never would give up loving you for anything." He found Hutch's hand where it rested on his stomach and laced their fingers. "I don't want you to think that I ever would. You're the other half of me, blondie. I couldn't make it without you. And I don't wanna try anytime soon."

"I love you too, Gordo. I just wish you hadn't had to give up some of the things you wanted for us to be together."

"If Blair's my son, I'm sorry I missed his whole childhood, and all that time, those years. But I'm not sorry that my life took the turns it did so we ended up together."

"You cared about his mother quite a bit, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but that was another lifetime. Before I fell in love with a big blond klutz who ruined me for anybody else."

"A big blond klutz?" Hutch drew back in mock anger. 

"Klutz? Oh, sorry. I meant 'blintz'." Starsky flashed one of his best "innocent" smiles, which was anything but.

"That's so much better," Hutch grumbled, heading inside. "Come on, you old fart. You need your sleep and your Geritol." Hutch headed inside.

"Old fart? You're only five months younger than me, babe. Don't forget it."

"I never forget that I'm younger than you, pal. Or smarter."

"Shithead," Starsky quipped, knowing he was too tired to take Hutch on, and their sparring match could go on into the night if they kept it up.

"I love you too, asshole." Hutch punctuated his comment with a kiss to Starsky's mouth as he moved toward the bathroom. "We still on that water conservation kick?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Shared showers until further notice, babe," Starsky replied cheerfully, following his lover.

* * *

By mutual agreement, Jim went to work the next morning as usual, and Blair stayed behind at the loft. As much as he wanted Jim's moral support, he felt he should meet with Starsky one on one.

After tossing and turning all night, he felt anything but rested, and guiltily realized that Jim had to be as tired as he was. The other man had tried holding him, tried talking to him, and finally just put up with his bed partner flopping around like a beached fish for several hours. Nothing helped. Blair poured himself another cup of coffee. //Good job, Sandburg. You're not wired enough. Guzzle a little more caffeine. Maybe you can impress him by your ability to literally bounce off the walls.//

When there was a knock at the door, he almost tossed the cup of coffee over his shoulder. He'd been expecting the sound for so long that it scared him when he actually heard it.

"Hi," he said a little stiffly as he opened the door. "Come on in," he continued, forcing a more natural smile. "Coffee?"

"That'd be great." Starsky walked into the living room and sat on the end of the couch while Blair returned to the kitchen, then brought two cups of coffee in with him. "Your mom probably called you last night."

"Yeah, she did. I think I know what this is about."

"I figured you would. Look, Blair, I won't push this if it's something you'd rather not pursue. But I _would_ like to pursue it."

"Do you regret not having kids?" Blair asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

"Sometimes. I don't regret it when I hold it up next to not having Hutch. I wouldn't give up our life together for anything." Starsky took a deep breath. "But I know that if I had a son, I would be enormously proud if he had turned out like you."

Blair just stared at the other man for a moment, a bit awestruck.

"Why?" he asked, his voice strained with disbelief.

"Why?" Starsky repeated, smiling and shaking his head. "You're almost a Ph.D. You're smart, resourceful--and you care about people. Why wouldn't I be proud of that? Not that I could take any credit for it, even if it turns out to be true."

"Thanks," Blair said softly. "That means a lot to me."

"I want to have a paternity test done, find out for sure."

"What I don't understand is how my mom remembered you so clearly, or knew you were a good possibility. I always figured she just didn't remember much about that time, or that there were a lot of possibilities."

"Well, the timing would be right. Maybe I'm just the only one who popped back up again and knew about her son."

"I had a lot of fantasies about meeting my dad--and a few nightmares, too. This really isn't what I expected."

"So is that good or bad?" Starsky asked, smiling a little.

"Both. There's this part of me that doesn't want to get this test done at all, because...because I'd really like it to be true. And if it isn't...it's going to be really hard to accept that I'm back to not knowing."

"Maybe we could stay in touch either way."

"I'd like that," Blair responded. "Did you...did you love her at all?"

"I was starting to," Starsky answered honestly. "Blair, we _made love_ that night. I didn't just have my way with a willing girl. I really cared about her. I think, if it hadn't been for our divergent lifestyles, we probably would have...well, at least tried to have something meaningful together."

"I'm glad."

"If you're my son, Blair, you weren't the result of a meaningless roll in the hay." Starsky paused. "So, uh, do you know anybody in the lab who could get this through fast for us?"

"Jim could probably sweet-talk someone into it. One of the main women in the lab I'd talk to is one of my ex-girlfriends."

"Ouch. We'll leave that part up to Jim, then," Starsky said, laughing. 

"What did Hutch think about all this?"

"He's pulling for us."

"I'm glad. So's Jim."

"Well, we probably should go downtown and see what our other halves are doing there." Starsky stood, and Blair followed suit. It hit the younger man at that moment, full force, that he could be in the same room with his father, after a lifetime of uncertainty. And not just any biological father, but one who liked him as a person, and who genuinely wanted it to be true. A father for whom Blair was not a burden, a dirty secret or a terrible mistake... This was the stuff dreams were made of.

"Thanks."

"For what?" Starsky asked as they headed for the door. 

"For following up on this. For...well, for _wanting_ it."

"Let's just hope the test goes our way, huh?" Starsky grinned, and Blair returned it, following his possible father out the door and locking it behind them.

* * *

When Starsky and Blair arrived at headquarters, they found Jim working at his desk and no sign of Hutch.

"Hey, Jim," Blair greeted, trying to sound casual. The whole issue of the paternity test was gnawing at him, and it was all he could do not to rush into the bullpen and blurt to Jim that he just had to pull some strings and get a DNA test done ASAP.

"How's it goin', Chief?" Jim's words were neutral, and his tone controlled, but his eyes bored straight into Blair's soul, translating the greeting into a genuine inquiry about the morning's events.

"Okay. Uh, Jim, we need to talk to you."

"Where's Hutch?" Starsky asked, having helped himself to some coffee from a nearby coffee maker.

"He went down to records to pick up a few files. He'll be back in a second. He has a theory he wants to work on."

"About the other kidnappers?"

"Yeah. He said something about Slater having some friends back in LA that he hung out with before he was arrested."

"Maxwell and Sherman. I remember those clowns. They weren't good for much more than drinking and getting into brawls. Oh, and covering Slater's ass from time to time." Starsky took another drink of coffee.

"You didn't arrest them?" Blair asked.

"We dragged them in for questioning, but the DA wasn't convinced we had enough evidence to book them and make it stick. It would have only ended up with obstruction of justice. Frankly, I think 'accessory after the fact' would have been more appropriate. I'm sure Sherman knew where a few bodies were buried. Literally. The bastard probably dug the holes."

"You didn't mention them before," Jim probed.

"Maxwell is in prison and Sherman dropped out of sight after Slater was arrested. No one's seen any sign of him. We tried keeping tabs on them, but once Maxwell was behind bars, Sherman didn't seem to have much reason to stick around. He had a girlfriend he used to slap around all the time, but I don't think that was exactly true love, so leaving her wasn't obviously a big deal." Starsky shook his head. "We kept trying to trace their moves because we felt sure Slater was responsible for a couple more missing persons that what he was saying, and both of us figured his cohorts would lead us where we needed to go to find the other bodies. They weren't rocket scientists, either one of them, and it made sense they'd go to the burial sites to be sure things were undisturbed at some point."

"Jim, uh, can I talk to you a minute. Actually, we both should," Blair interjected, unable to concentrate on case talk any longer.

"Sure. Simon's at a seminar this morning. We can use his office." Jim led the way and opened the door, then closed it when all three of them were in the office.

"Could you talk someone in the lab into doing a DNA test for us?" Blair asked, figuring that Jim knew enough of the background to cut to the chase.

"I could talk to Dan. I think he'd be our best bet to get it done quickly, accurately and discretely."

"Would you talk to him?" Blair asked. 

"I'll go down there now." //Like I could ever deny you anything when you turn those puppy dog eyes on me,// Jim thought, smiling at his lover.

"We could go through a lab officially for this," Starsky said. "But it'll take a while to get the results."

"Dan's a good guy. He'll do it, and handle it confidentially."

"I don't have a problem with anyone knowing," Starsky spoke up, making Jim pause with his hand on the doorknob. "I was thinking more of Blair's privacy, or you having trouble with the brass."

"I don't have problems with people knowing either," Blair replied.

"As for the brass, what they don't know won't hurt 'em," Jim concluded, exiting the office and heading for Dan Wolf's lab.

"Words to live by," Starsky commented, laughing a little. He was unaware that Jim heard his comment as he waited by the elevator, and shared the laugh. //Like father, like son,// Jim thought as he watched the doors close and pressed the button.

Dan Wolf was as agreeable as Jim thought he would be, more than happy to help out with such an important family matter. Furthermore, he knew the waiting time and potential for error would be more of a problem if the test were done by an outside lab. This way, the test would be performed on two samples Dan would draw himself, and screen immediately. 

"It's all set," Jim reported to the group gathered in Simon's office, which had expanded to include Hutch. He assumed Hutch knew the score with what was going on, and he did, apparently having been filled in during Jim's absence.

"When is he gonna do it?" Starsky asked.

"He's finishing up a final report right now, so he said you could go down there in about fifteen minutes. He'll take blood samples and run the DNA tests. We should have the results in a couple hours after that."

"Beats taking it to a private lab," Hutch commented, and Starsky nodded in agreement.

"Hutch found something interesting in the mug books downstairs," Blair spoke up, wanting to pass what would be an eternal fifteen minutes by talking about something else.

"I decided to just flip through some of the mug shots just in case I could spot someone who resembled Sherman or Maxwell."

"Maxwell's in the slammer," Starsky added.

"Not anymore. He got his parole."

"He what?!" Starsky asked, stunned. "He was supposed to be in for six years minimum on that aggravated assault, even with all the bleeding heart good behavior and parole bullshit thrown in."

"Well, I guess the overcrowding problem, coupled with his exemplary behavior in the prison environment--that's the wording in the file the prison faxed me--they tapped him for early release. His physique would match up with Blair's description of one of his assailants. And in your written statement, Blair, you mentioned one of them had a slight speech impediment, remember?"

"I remember all right," Blair responded, rolling his eyes. Noticing Jim's puzzled expression, he added, "After he started yelling 'how does that feel' and telling me that's what I got for running away, while he was swinging the belt, I got to know his voice _real well_."

"Let me see that photo," Jim demanded, and Hutch complied, handing it to him. "You never saw him without the mask?" he asked Blair.

"No."

"Here's the interesting thing," Hutch continued. "Get a load of this photo." He slid a photocopy of a photo into the middle of the table. All three of the others leaned in to look at it. "This is Gerald Masters, who was picked up on a petty larceny charge. According to his Cascade PD file, he stole some cigarettes from a convenience store, and the owner agreed not to press charges if he was paid for the merchandise."

"Same guy," Jim announced, scanning both photos.

"If they're the same person, we can just about bet this is one of the two, and I would bet a year's salary that accomplice number two is Sherman. We just have to find the asshole."

"Let's start with Masters' last known address," Jim suggested, rising and heading for the door.

"Uh, we should go downstairs first," Blair said hesitantly.

"Good idea," Starsky concurred, standing also. "We'll meet you guys in the garage, okay?"

"Sure," Hutch responded, following Jim out of the office.

Dan Wolf chatted pleasantly, like many health care workers do to keep patients relaxed, as he drew blood samples from both men. 

"I'm not used to working on the live ones, so I'm sorry I forgot to warn you," he apologized after Blair started a little at the insertion of the needle. "Most of my customers don't notice."

"I just don't like to watch," Blair responded, still not watching the small syringe fill with blood.

"We've noticed that down here," Dan quipped, drawing a little chuckle from Starsky from his spot leaning against one of the counters. He pressed a cotton ball against the point of entry and instructed Blair to bend his elbow and hold it there to put pressure on the tiny wound. After labeling Blair's sample, he turned back to Starsky. "Ready for the next victim," he announced.

"You thought you'd have the results in a couple hours?" Starsky asked, sitting down and rolling up his shirt sleeve.

"Probably. I just got a fresh one I have to do this afternoon, so it could be this evening. But I'll get to it as soon as possible."

"We really appreciate you doing this, Dan," Blair said.

"No problem. I'm kind of interested in seeing the results myself. Guess they'd have to start cutting you a break around here if it turns out your old man's a cop too," Dan opined, laughing a little.

"I wouldn't count on it," Blair retorted, grinning. "Besides, he'll be in California."

"That's what planes are for," Starsky added, ignoring the stab of the needle.

"It would be a bit interesting--being you ended up working with cops even though you weren't one," Dan stated, and Blair nodded a little. He couldn't explain what had really drawn him to work with cops, so he realized that taking his presence at face value, Dan's observation was a valid one. "Okay. Hold that," he instructed Starsky, as the other man moved his arm up to keep pressure on his own needle puncture. He then taped the cotton in place on Blair's arm, and after a brief pause, did the same for Starsky.

"Is it okay if we check with you when we get back in?" Blair asked. "We have to go out to follow up a lead."

"Sure. Just stop in when you get back. I might not be done yet, but if this next case is routine, I could be."

"Okay. Thanks." Blair led the way out of the lab.

Continued in part seven.


	7. Chapter 7

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from six. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part seven  
by Candy Apple

Jim pulled up to the curb in front of an aging brick apartment building not far from the city's main downtown business district. Hutch navigated the sedan to a halt behind Jim's pick-up. The four men congregated a moment on the sidewalk.

"I want you to wait down here, Chief," Jim checked his gun and then replaced it in the holster.

"I have a vested interest in this, Jim."

"So do I--a vested interest in keeping you from getting a bullet in the head. Besides, we need somebody in a safe spot in case we need back up. If this jerk is who we think he is, and he's still here, he may make a break for it."

"I don't like this."

"Jim's right," Starsky spoke up. "You're not armed, and you're not a cop."

"That hasn't been a problem so far," Blair shot back sharply.

"Okay, guys, this isn't a pissing contest here. Blair, you're waiting in the truck. That's final."

"What _is_ it with you? I almost always come with you when you're going to question somebody." Blair watched as Jim took a prolonged, and obviously calming, breath.

"I have two other cops for back-up, which gives me the luxury of not risking your ass here. Now I'm going to say this one more time. Wait. In. The. Truck."

"Don't talk down to me, man. And DO NOT start giving me orders. I'm not some stupid kid."

"Then quit acting like one." 

"You and Starsky go ahead. Blair and I'll bring up the rear," Hutch said, surprising Blair by sticking up for him in an argument the younger man never expected to win against three cops. Jim just shook his head and started in for the building.

"Thanks," Blair muttered to Hutch as they followed the other pair. 

"Just keep alert and do what I tell you. I don't want you getting your head blown off. Starsky would kill me."

"I'll watch my step. I'm not a stranger to this," Blair replied.

"That's what I'm counting on."

After checking with the building's super and finding that Masters was still a tenant in the fourth floor apartment, Jim knocked on the door of #416. When there was no reply, he looked at Starsky, who shrugged. 

"He's in there," Jim said quietly.

"How do you--"

"I just do." Removing his weapon from its holster and releasing the safety, Jim knocked on the door as Starsky prepared his own weapon. "Cascade PD. Open up!" 

Hutch drew his weapon from the spot around a corner of the hall where he and Blair waited. 

"If anything goes down, you stay back here. Now get on the phone and call for back-up," Hutch directed Blair, who wordlessly complied.

When there was no response from inside the apartment audible to anyone but Jim, he backed up and kicked in the door, both detectives bursting through it with guns drawn.

The relative silence was shattered by a spray of gunfire, and Hutch rushed down the hall, flattening himself against the wall near the open door. Blair found it hard to obey the command to stay out of the way now, but also realized his failure to do so could cause more harm than good. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed to any deity who would listen that both Jim and Starsky had survived the altercation. He watched Hutch wait a few moments, as if listening, then dive in the door himself. No gunfire followed, which Blair wasn't sure was a good sign or a bad sign. People were starting to come out their doors now, and Blair hastened to warn them all to stay in their apartments, that the police were on the scene.

"Get an ambulance! Now!" Hutch's shout jolted Blair into motion with the phone again, his heart pounding crazily now, wondering who had been shot and how bad it was. As soon as he'd placed the call, he ran down the hall to the open apartment door. 

The inside of the small living room was nightmarish. A large man with brown hair and a mustache sprawled on his back near the windows opposite the door, a spreading patch of red soaking into his white t-shirt over his heart. Two other forms lay on the floor. Jim was raising up on one elbow now, finding his own handkerchief to stem the flow of blood from what appeared to be a flesh wound on his forehead. Nearby, Starsky lay motionless on the floor as his partner held a rapidly soaking bloody towel he'd grabbed from the kitchen over a wound to the prone man's chest.

"Starsk, come on, dammit, you hang in there, babe."

Stunned almost beyond his ability to function coherently at the sight of his lover, and what might be his father, felled in a shootout, Blair made his way toward the short hall that led to the bathroom and found all the towels he could there, hauling an armload back to the living room. He handed a fresh one to Hutch, who added it over the top of the soaked one.

"Is he...?" Blair looked into Hutch's agonized eyes.

"He's hangin' in there," Hutch murmured quietly, fighting to keep control and stay focused to help Starsky.

Blair grabbed one of the smaller towels and turned to Jim, covering the soaked handkerchief the other man held to the flesh wound on his head and applying the pressure, freeing Jim's hand from the task. He slid an arm around his lover's broad shoulders, silently offering thanks that Jim's injuries weren't worse.

"He moved up. I went in high and he went in low, and Masters was there, aiming, and like a flash, Starsky was just _there_ , between me and the bullets. One hit him and one must have grazed my head, and I returned fire as I was hitting the floor, and dropped Masters," Jim recalled, still visibly stunned by the older cop's moves to save his life.

Hutch didn't seem to care about the account of how it happened, at least not at that moment. All his efforts were focused on applying pressure to the wound and keeping up a steady litany of soft-voiced words to his fallen partner. 

"Jim!" Simon strode through the door. "Oh my God," he muttered, spotting Starsky on the floor nearby. "We got word of the 'officers down' call at headquarters. I guess Conner and I beat the back up units. They were just pulling up out front when we came in."

"Where is the damned ambulance?!" Hutch demanded. 

"Close," Jim replied calmly, hearing the siren no one else could hear yet. Within seconds, it was audible to the others. "We should get out of their way, Chief," Jim suggested gently, starting to move.

"Let me give you a hand," Simon offered, helping Blair pull Jim to his feet as Megan moved to Hutch's side to check Starsky's pulse. Needing both hands on the towels, Hutch hadn't been able to check it again since they arrived. She put her hand on Hutch's shoulder and appeared to be offering him some words of reassurance.

"How is he?" Blair asked Jim.

"His pulse is weak and thready. I'm sorry, Chief, but it doesn't sound good." The arm Jim had around Blair's shoulders for support tightened a little. "Come on. Let's get over to the hospital. At least we'll be there when the ambulance brings him in, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Blair agreed hesitantly, still watching the prone man on the floor and his anguished partner. As soon as they had moved into the hall and were heading for the elevator, the EMT's burst through the elevator doors and rushed down the hall with the gurney. "He's gotta be okay, Jim," Blair muttered quietly. 

"I know, baby. He's a pretty tough customer. He might fool us all yet."

If Simon overheard the unusual endearment, he didn't say anything. He hit the elevator button to stop the doors from closing and when the other two men were inside, he stepped in and hit the button for the first floor.

"You two have gotten to be pretty tight with our visitors," he commented.

"Uh, Simon? My mom knew Starsky...a long time ago. Back in 1968. The timing was right... And we think maybe..." Blair shrugged slightly.

"Oh, damn. You don't know for sure yet?" Simon's face was immediately more sympathetic.

"We just got the test about an hour ago," Blair managed, then closed his eyes and worked at maintaining his control. Life couldn't be so cruel as to dangle a father in front of him--a father who already liked him for the person he was, who respected him, who would be proud of him--and then snatch him away again. It just wasn't fair...

"It's gonna be okay, Chief," Jim said softly, rubbing Blair's shoulder a little. 

"I'm so...glad you're okay," he murmured, afraid that speaking out loud would come out as a sob instead of words. The lump in his throat was massive. "He...purposely got in the line of fire?" Blair asked.

"It had to be on purpose. He's got lightning reflexes, and he moved faster than I could _think_. If he was in the line of fire, he wanted to be there. He saved my life, Blair."

* * *

Simon drove the two men to the hospital, and they managed to arrive just before the ambulance, which came racing up to the Emergency entrance just after Simon had dropped Jim and Blair off there and headed toward the lot to park.

As soon as the nurse at the desk learned that Jim's injury was a gunshot wound, he found himself in a wheelchair headed for the nearest examination room, barely having time to stick his insurance card in Blair's hand to fill out the paperwork. When the double doors burst open and the gurney carrying Starsky was raced down the hall, Hutch keeping up at its side, he handed the card to the nurse and rushed over to join the chaos. Hutch reluctantly slowed his trot and watched them wheel his lover through a set of double doors. 

"How is he?" Blair asked immediately.

"He's hanging on," Hutch managed. The tall man stood stock still in the now quiet hallway, staring after the gurney as if he could still see it. "He has to," he added quietly. Then Hutch took a look at his hands, horrified by the amount of drying blood there, and on his clothing. Starsky's blood. "God, not again," he moaned, a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks. "Not again."

"Maybe you should get cleaned up," Blair suggested. "The restroom's right over there," he said, inclining his head in that direction. Remembering Hutch's moral support and compassion with him at the scene of Slater's death, Blair was more than willing to return the favor.

"He's my life. My soul. I can't lose him."

"He knows you need him. He won't leave you if he can help it." Something in the statement seemed to stir Hutch from his reverie, and he looked down into Blair's eyes.

"No. You're right. He won't." He found a small smile then, and followed Blair willingly to the restroom.

When Jim emerged from the examining room, Blair had successfully completed the ream of paperwork at the desk, and was sitting on one end of the couch, Hutch in a nearby chair, both men looking pale and pensive. Blair's head snapped up immediately at Jim's presence.

"How're you feeling?" he asked as Jim dropped into the seat next to him, running his arm behind Blair on the back of the couch.

"I've got a five alarm headache, but other than that, I'm okay. Any word?"

"He's in surgery," Hutch responded. "The bullet missed his heart and lungs, but it did nick an artery. That's why the bleeding was so excessive, and stopping that is the big challenge."

"Blair?" Dan Wolf appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. "I just heard about what happened...about Detective Starsky's injury. I would like to talk to you for a moment."

"Whatever it is--you can say it in front of Jim and Hutch," Blair responded, and Dan joined the group, sitting on the edge of the other chair near the couch. 

"The test is completed. Do you want to know the results now?"

"Yes," Blair said in a voice that was more of a breath than a word, and nodded.

"I can tell you that he _is_ your father, Blair. With a 99.97% certainty, based on the DNA test."

"Oh, man," Blair muttered, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You're sure?" he asked, his face contorting a bit with the threat of tears.

"I'm sure. I thought you should know."

"Thanks for coming over to tell us, Dan," Jim spoke up. He rested his hand on Blair's back. "You okay, Chief?" His answer was the vibration of Blair's tears shaking his entire body. Without concern for the other men who were watching, Jim encouraged Blair into his arms and held him close. "I'm here, Chief. It's okay. I'm right here," Jim repeated softly, rubbing Blair's back slowly.

"Detective Hutchinson--you look like you could use some coffee," Dan suggested, smiling slightly at the haggard man sitting in the other chair.

"Only if they can pump it in intravenously," Hutch retorted, rising as Dan did, moving down the hall toward the coffee machine. 

"It's not fair!" Blair shouted into Jim's shoulder.

"I know it isn't, sweetheart. It sucks. But it isn't over yet. He's strong, and he has every reason to want to make it through this."

"All my life... I thought...I wondered if...that maybe he was some really...bad person...or didn't...want me..."

"And now he's a great dad and you get him snatched away before you can even get to know him. But he's not gone yet, baby. It's not over."

"I...wanted so bad...to know... Now, I wish...I didn't," Blair confided miserably, still crying.

"Shhh. Try to relax and take a few deep breaths, baby," Jim suggested, patting Blair's back lightly. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Blair choked out, trying to calm down and swallow a few times.

"I'm fine, baby. I'm right here. It's gonna be okay, sweetheart."

"What if...he dies...and he never knows?"

"I think he knew, Blair. I don't know how, if it was instinct or a hunch, or what it was--but from the first day he arrived, he was drawn to you. No matter what happens, somehow, he knew." //Why else would he put himself between me and a bullet--unless he was saving his son's lover, knowing what losing Hutch would feel like to him, and wanting to save you that same pain?// Jim took a deep breath, sobered by the thought. His life had been saved by two generations of Blair's family now. And knowing Starsky was Blair's father made the detective's life precious to Jim, as well.

Blair was quieting now, his sobs reduced to a few sharp indrawn breaths and a couple of lingering tears. 

"Jim, I need you to be honest with me about something."

"Anything, sweetheart."

"Why didn't you want me to come in with you back at the scene?"

"I had a feeling it could get dangerous. If Masters--Maxwell, whoever, hung out with animals like Slater, I figured he wouldn't just invite us in for coffee. I didn't want you getting hurt."

"Did I..." Blair took a deep breath and sat up, moving away from the damp spot on Jim's shirt he had created. "Did I mess things up by insisting on coming in? I mean, if I had stayed outside, Hutch wouldn't have been watching out for me."

"You didn't mess anything up, Blair," Hutch answered before Jim could, as he rejoined them. "Dan had to get back to the lab. He said to call him if you had any questions." Hutch took a swallow of the coffee from the styrofoam cup he held. "Only so many cops can burst through a door without getting stuck there. About the maximum number before you start shooting each other, quite frankly, is two. And being this Maxwell character had beaten up on you before, I have a feeling that Starsk would have insisted on being one of the two to go in."

"But Jim wanted me to wait downstairs, and you were trying to look out for me--"

"Actually, I wasn't spending much time looking out for you. I wanted you out of the line of fire, which you were. But my place wasn't to put _myself_ in the line of fire either. I was supposed to be just what I was--back-up. And having you there to get the residents back in their apartments and make the necessary calls for departmental back-up and the ambulance was a big help. This isn't your fault, kiddo. We all know shit like this happens to cops every day. That's one of the reasons I wanted to retire from active duty five years ago." Hutch snorted a little laugh. "But sentencing Starsky to taking up gardening and sitting on the deck all day would be akin to killing him. He couldn't stand it. And I don't trust anyone but myself to back up the old fart on the streets, so here I am," Hutch concluded, smiling a little.

"He moves fast for an old fart," Jim commented, laughing.

"He's five months older than I am. It's a running joke." Hutch sighed. "I've spent so many vigils like this in hospitals waiting for Starsky. This lousy job has been so cruel to him and he still loves it. Kind of like a guy who can't get it through his head that his wife's no good. Starsky's that devoted. Somehow, he always seems to make it back again."

"Maybe it's the incentive--he doesn't want to leave you," Blair added.

"Almost twenty years ago now, Starsky was shot multiple times in a professional hit. Nobody expected him to live. They did lose him once briefly. He says he had a choice of whether or not to come back. And he came back. It was against all the odds then. I have to believe he can still pull it off now."

"I'm sorry that he was wounded because of our case," Jim said, shaking his head. "If he hadn't moved when he did, I'd probably be dead right now." Jim laid a hand on Blair's arm as he felt a shiver pass through his lover's body.

"Gotta take care of the future son-in-law. You want some coffee?"

"I'd kill for it," Jim said, chuckling a little. "Where's Simon, anyway?"

"He went back to the scene. He said he'd be back in a while," Blair volunteered. "He waited with us for a few minutes, until after the doctors came out and told us how you guys were both doing."

"It's probably going to be a long night," Hutch opined a bit grimly, rising and leading the other two men toward the coffee machine.

* * *

The group had been there for several hours by the time there was any news on Starsky's condition. Megan, Rafe, Brown and Simon had joined the little vigil and brought take-outs with them, though the three men who had been there from the start had little appetite. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the tired-looking doctor emerged and approached the group. A man in his mid-forties with sandy-colored hair and a ready smile, his pleasant expression alleviated a lot of pent up terror before he ever opened his mouth.

"Mr. Starsky made it through surgery. We successfully removed the bullet and repaired the damage. Fortunately, the actual damage to the tissue was minor considering the trauma, so our big concern is getting his vitals stabilized. His blood pressure plummeted because of the blood loss and he's not out of the woods completely yet. The next 24 hours will be crucial, but I would say he has a very strong chance of survival--higher than 50-50."

"When can I see him?" Hutch asked immediately.

"He's in recovery now, so it'll be a couple of hours. He'll be moved to ICU from there, and his visitors will be limited to one per hour, for five or ten minutes, max. The nurse will let you know when you can go up."

"Thank you, doctor," Hutch replied, feeling a great deal of the day's tension oozing out of him. "Thank God," he muttered as the doctor took his leave.

"I have to admit, I didn't think things would turn out so well after seeing him at the scene," Megan admitted.

"Neither did I," Hutch concurred. "But then, this isn't the first time he's surprised me."

"We better head back downtown. Jim, you look like you could use some rest," Simon commented as he rose, and the rest of the Cascade PD contingent followed suit. "I could give you a lift home. Blair, are you staying?"

"It's okay if you want to, Chief. I'm okay. I can stay with you."

"You should get some rest. Simon's right."

"I'll call you if anything changes," Hutch spoke up. "Why don't you two go home? I'll be okay here, and Starsky's going to sleep for a while, and even when he does come around at first, he'll be groggy as hell."

"You'll call right away?" Blair clarified. Hutch just smiled and nodded. Blair glanced back at Jim, who really did look a shade or two paler than normal, and very tired. While it had only been a graze, it had been an impact, and he'd lost some blood from the wound. "Okay, then we'll head for home for now."

* * *

Blair lay quietly against his lover, listening to the steady rhythm of Jim's heart. It was after midnight, and Hutch had called once around eleven to tell them that Starsky was holding his own, but hadn't regained consciousness yet. After that, the two men had decided to turn in for the night and try to get some sleep. Between tying up the loose ends of the Masters/Maxwell incident, and spending time at the hospital, the next day would be a long one.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" The voice was a little groggy, as if Jim had been on the edge of sleep.

"When you're feeling better, I want to try again."

"Try what, sweetheart?"

"Uh...sex."

"What made you think about that now?" Jim asked, moving his head to kiss Blair's forehead.

"When I heard the shooting...it was just like all these...missed opportunities flashed through my mind. And that was one of them."

"Even if the worst had happened, Chief, I wouldn't have gone out feeling mad at you or hurt because we hadn't taken that step successfully yet."

"But we would have missed ever really making love."

"We won't miss it now. When the time's right, we'll figure out the mechanics of it."

"It won't just happen. We have to work at it."

"Blair, if it's a sensation you don't like, I'm not going to pressure you into something that hurts you."

"You didn't make a very good monk, Jim." Blair laughed a little. "I just...need to get over it, and relax more."

"When we get everything smoothed out, and we know Starsky's okay, and you guys have had time to work you some of your...issues, we'll set aside some time to figure this out."

"I didn't think he was gonna make it."

"Neither did I. He surprised everyone, I think. Guess you come from pretty tough stock, Chief."

"Seems so weird...to have a face to put with the concept."

"I'm glad that when you found him, he wasn't a disappointment or a negative experience."

"Me too." Blair let his eyes drift shut. "Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, baby. Get some sleep. We're gonna need it tomorrow."

* * *

Hutch stared at the motionless form of his partner. //Not entirely motionless. At least he's breathing, and his heart's beating...// He ran his hand over his face, pausing to rub at bloodshot eyes. Checking his watch, he saw that it was three in the morning. The night nurse didn't seem to care if he sat there. As a matter of fact, she had taken mercy on him since all he was doing was trying to nap on the couch in the waiting room and then jumping up to come in every hour. Starsky was in a private room in the ICU wing, so Hutch's presence didn't disturb any other patients. He had been silent most of the late night hours, not wanting to interfere with Starsky's rest. 

"I thought you'd have come around by now, Gordo. You're really taking a hell of a nap on me here." Hutch took a hold of his lover's cool hand. "There's a lot going on that you have to be awake for, babe." He brought Starsky's hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it, then clasped it in both of his. "There's some news that really should come from Blair, so I'll let him tell you, but let's just say you're going to be letting him down in a big way if you don't hurry up and re-join the living here. And we've got an anniversary coming up. That's right, my love. Next week. Nineteen years together." Hutch felt the lump rising in his throat. "Every day of those nineteen years was a gift...a miracle. God, Starsk, it all started for us in a hospital... Don't let it end there, too. We've got a lifetime ahead of us. So many places we both want to travel, things we want to see together. Plans we made. Hell, you know I can't expand the deck without you," Hutch added, laughing a little wetly as he held Starsky's hand against his face. "And I can't live the next twenty or so years of my life that way either." 

Starsky still lay silent, his eyes closed, dark lashes contrasting with pale skin.

"I have big plans for that anniversary, babe. I was going to make reservations at the Seaside Inn, but then I figured it would be more romantic if we just spent the night in our own little paradise. That's what our home is for me, Starsk. It always has been, since it was a skunky little fixer-upper. Now that it's a beautiful home we've built together, it's just more beautiful to me. Just like you. Every year, I love you more, and I never expected that would be possible. It's that love that comes with routine--all the best parts of marriage. Counting on each other, doing all the dull things together, bickering about bills and retirement plans and what to watch on TV. God, Starsk, our life has been so beautiful. So blessed. I know it's probably greedy to want more when you've already had so much more than most people. But I want it." 

"I wrote you a song. I was planning to surprise you with it next week, but I want you to hear it now. And know that I couldn't ever put into words what you mean to me if I sang forever." Hutch kissed his lover's hand one more time before he started singing quietly, his smooth, mellow voice wafting on the silence of the ICU wing:

//Here we are After all these years Face to face Heart to heart And I've loved you from the start But I never thought that we'd be standing here After all these years

Here we are With another song to sing All these days Pass us by As we watched our childhood fly And I'm still the one to share Your hopes and fears After all these years

After all these years We still have each other One to another After all these years You're still the one And I'm still here After all these years

And Here we are With another bridge to cross Face to face Heart to heart And I loved you from the start But I never thought that we'd be standing here After all these years

And I've loved these days All we've been through And I'd just like to say I'm so glad it's been you Here's one more song from the heart For the laughter and the tears After all these years After all these years//

Hutch kissed the hand he was holding again and looked back up--and straight into two sapphire blue eyes, watching him with that trademark grin. It was faint, but it was there.

"Never could pass up hearin' you sing, blondie," Starsky managed in a rough voice.

"Hey, babe. How're you feeling?" Hutch reached up and caressed his lover's face.

"Tired. Like somebody has a knife in my chest. That's where I...took the shot...huh?"

"Yeah. Leave it to you, Starsk. Can't take it somewhere ordinary like the shoulder." Hutch smiled. "Don't try to talk and tire yourself out. I'll go let the nurse know you're awake."

"Blair...he's okay?"

"He's fine. Worried sick about you, but he's fine. So's Ellison, thanks to you throwing your body in front of him, hero."

"Didn't..." Starsky closed his eyes and swallowed. "Didn't want Blair to have to bury the man he loved," he managed, looking into Hutch's eyes. "Gotta...look out for my boy," he said softly, smiling a little.

"You always knew, didn't you? Had a feeling?" Hutch watched the dark head nod slightly.

"Didn't need a test. He's mine," Starsky murmured with obvious pride. "Just knew it."

"I think he's pretty excited about having you for a dad, buddy."

"He's really something, isn't he? My kid?" Starsky blinked a couple times, his eyes moist. "Who'd'a thought? My boy the professor."

"You should rest, love." Hutch raised up and kissed Starsky's forehead.

"What's that? A kiss from my ma? My lips are down here, babe."

"If you insist," Hutch responded, planting a light, but slightly lingering kiss on his partner's lips. "I love you."

"I love you too, you old blond blintz." Starsky smiled as Hutch laughed, wiping at his eyes. 

"I'm going to get the nurse. Be right back."

"I'll wait," Starsky responded, winking at Hutch and still grinning slightly.

* * *

The phone shook Jim out of his sleep first, and Blair wasn't far behind him, stirring and groaning a little as Jim answered it.

"Ellison," he managed, just before covering the mouthpiece as a jaw expanding yawn took it's toll.

"Jim, it's Hutch. I thought you guys would like to know that Starsky just regained consciousness and the doctor said his vital signs are much stronger. He said if all continues to go the way it is now, which he thinks it will, he expects him to make a full recovery."

"That's great news. I'll tell Blair. Thanks so much for calling us. You need a lift from the hospital to your hotel?"

"No. I'm just going to sleep here for a couple more hours, and when Blair gets here, I'll go back to the hotel for a little while. I know they need to talk."

"Is he up to talking about that?"

"Very much so. Look, I'll let you get back to sleep. See you in a few hours."

"Yeah. Thanks, Hutch."

Jim broke the connection and rolled over to face his partner. 

"He's awake, and doing much better. Doctor thinks he'll be fine."

"Thank God." Blair flopped back flat on the bed from where he had been raised up on his elbow. "I've been sort of sleeping, but I couldn't really relax. I kept expecting to get a bad phone call."

"I know. I'm just glad it was a good one," Jim found Blair's hand under the covers and held onto it, lacing their fingers. Blair shifted back onto his side again and moved in close against Jim's side. He kissed the larger man's mouth, then rested a hand on his chest.

* * *

Blair approached the door of the hospital room somewhat cautiously, pushing it a few inches from the frame to look in at the man in the bed. Starsky looked like he might be sleeping, eyes closed, peaceful expression on his face. Blair moved a little further through the door, and paused again. He had to laugh when a single eye opened ostentatiously to investigate the noises.

"I'm awake," Starsky said, grinning a little and opening both eyes. 

"I didn't want to disturb you if you were trying to take a nap."

"I've been unconscious since yesterday. I think I've napped enough for a few minutes," Starsky said, then paused to yawn. "Maybe not." His voice was still a bit raspy, but his color had improved immensely from the last time Blair had seen him.

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you." Blair moved up closer to the bed, standing a little nervously behind the straight chair next to it. "I'm really glad you're feeling better."

"I still feel like I have a fireplace poker in my chest, but they tell me I'll live. Sit down, huh?" Starsky said, smiling.

"Last night...Dan Wolf came over while you were in surgery."

"He had our results, huh?" Starsky watched while Blair nodded. "You wanna let me in on it?" he prodded, both touched and amused by his normally verbose and gregarious son's nervousness. "And how about sitting down while you're at it?" Starsky watched as Blair complied, then looked even more nervous for a moment, if that was possible.

"He said that the results were positive, and that it was 99.97% accurate." Blair had shot out the words, and was watching Starsky intently now for a reaction.

"Oh, man," Starsky sighed. "It's official."

"I don't want you to think that I'm going to start bugging you all the time or anything. I mean, I'm so happy we got a chance to meet each other, and I'd like to keep in touch, if that's okay, but I--"

"Blair, slow down, okay?"

"Sorry." Blair's eyes dropped to the floor. 

"Hey." Starsky waited until Blair looked up at him again and then smiled. "This is _great news_ , kid. I'm just too winded to celebrate the right way." Starsky reached a hand, palm up, toward his son. Blair looked at it a moment, and then reached out and grasped it firmly. "Blair, not knowing you wasn't my choice. I know things were...complicated for your mom, and I'm not blaming her at all. But I don't want you to walk around thinking that finding out about you is like acquiring some piece of excess baggage. I'm just so sorry for all the time we lost, and for all the things I would have liked to have done with you, places I could have taken you...you know, father-son stuff."

"I always wondered if...if I ever met my dad, how he'd react. I've heard some real horror stories, you know? Kids who found missing parents and it was a disaster. The parents didn't want anything to do with them, and it screwed up everybody's lives." Blair shook his head. "It's _so_ important to me not to do that." 

"I always wanted kids," Starsky said quietly. "That's not the kind of thing you can tell your male life partner, so that's just between us. I kind of figure he knows that, but I'd never say it. I never wanted Hutch to feel like there was anything missing from our life together for me."

"It's a trade-off." Blair smiled slightly. "But when you're really in love, it's worth it," he concluded, thinking of his own situation with Jim. 

"Exactly."

"I have some pictures at home. Maybe you'd like to see those sometime. You know, baby pictures, childhood stuff."

"I'll probably be laid out here for a while, so that sounds like a great project as soon as they let me raise this damn bed a little." Starsky smiled and squeezed Blair's hand. "All that stuff you were saying before about not bothering me--I want you to understand that door swings both ways. I want to be a part of your life, Blair. But only to the degree it's comfortable for you."

"I guess it's a little late for a birth announcement in the Cascade Herald," Blair responded, smiling.

"That might be pushing it," Starsky retorted, chortling a little and then grimacing. "I should know better." He raised one tired hand and brushed it over the area on his hospital gown that covered the bandaged incision on his chest.

"I shouldn't be tiring you out."

"The nurse'll probably toss you out in a minute anyway." Starsky tightened his grip on Blair's hand as the other man started to rise. "Hey."

"What?" Blair finished standing, but didn't pull his hand away.

"I know I didn't play any part in it, so I probably don't have a right, but I'm real proud of you, son."

"You can't know...what that means to me," Blair responded in a strained voice.

"Come back later?"

"I'd like to, yeah." Blair smiled widely. "Is it okay if I tell some of my friends?"

"You can put a billboard up by the highway if you want. When I said I was proud of you, Blair, I meant it." Starsky watched as Blair bit his bottom lip and took a deep shaky breath. The younger man covered their joined hands with his free hand.

"I'll come see you as soon as they let me in again--well, and after Hutch gets his turns."

"Good." Starsky smiled let his eyes drift shut as Blair released his hand and moved toward the door. 

Looking back at the dozing man in the bed he now knew as his father, Blair wondered how ridiculous Starsky would consider it if he actually called him "Dad". //Maybe I better work up to that one,// he thought, smiling as he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

Blair sat on the bed in his old room and stared at the phone. Finally picking it up, he dialed the number he had handy for Naomi.

"Hello?" A man's voice greeted him on the other end of the line. 

"Is Naomi there?" Blair asked.

"Sure. Just a minute." The other man's voice sounded pleasant enough, and Blair could hear his voice in the distance calling Naomi's name, telling her she had a call.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Hi, sweetie. How are you?"

"I'm calling about the test, Mom." Blair hesitated, and it seemed as if Naomi stopped breathing on the other end of the line waiting for the answer. "It was positive. He's the one. He's my father."

"I'm glad," she said softly. "I'm glad it was someone special."

"Me too," Blair agreed, wanting so badly to ask her more about the circumstances that had made her so unsure about his paternity in the first place. Nonetheless, he refrained. If she hadn't volunteered it, she probably didn't wish to explain it. "I really like him a lot. We get along great."

"He was a very sweet young man, way back when. You have to understand, Blair. I would have never made a good cop's wife." Naomi's statement made Blair laugh. She deserved an award for understatement of the year.

"I hear that," Blair said fondly, still smiling.

"If I could have known it was him...I would have told you, honey."

"Kind of ironic--finding out my dad's a cop. Now I'm working with the PD--"

"Don't remind me."

"Mom."

"All right, all right," she caved in easily. "No more lectures about working with the pigs."

"Mom! What does that make me? A son of a pig?" he asked, his smile coming through in his voice.

"And a pig's roommate," she picked up the joke. "All right. No more lectures about working with _Cascade's Finest_. Is that better?"

"Yeah, I think Jim could handle that better than the 'pig' label. Especially since the man's a compulsive neat freak." Blair paused. "Mom?"

"What, honey?" she sounded concerned, as if she'd detected the tension in his voice.

"There's something else you oughtta know."

"What?"

"Jim and I...we're...sort of...involved."

"Took you long enough."

"Huh?" Blair's eyes widened as he answered.

"I know you two have been interested in each other for a long time. You guarded Jim like he was your boyfriend the first time I visited you two."

"I did not," Blair protested.

"You gave me so many 'don't flirt with Jim' warnings that it became pretty clear you weren't worried about my virtue--or his. You were protecting your turf."

"I never meant to do that."

"Maybe not consciously. But that doesn't matter now. I just know you two have had feelings for each other a long time. I hope he makes you happy, sweetie."

"He does." Blair let the silence hang there. 

"But...?"

"It's just real new, that's all."

"New things are always a little scary. But you'll work things out together. How is Jim handling all this at work?"

"We're not. I mean, it's tricky with his job. He's willing to be open about it if I want, but I know it would be miserable for him. I don't want him to spend all his time fighting homophobes instead of doing his job."

"You'll have to play it by ear, I suppose."

"Yeah, probably."

"Honey, I have to go. Harold and I have tickets to a concert tonight--"

"Rock and roll or the symphony? Oh, wait--Harold. Symphony, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"He's not going to last long, is he, Mom?"

"I'm afraid not," she paused, covering the phone. Her still audible voice promised Harold she'd be right with him as Blair could hear a door opening and closing. "Probably until the next pair of tickets to the opera."

"I'd say have fun, but..."

"Make a wish that might come true, honey." She laughed a little. "I'll call you in a few days. I want to know how things are going with Jim--and with your father."

"Okay. Love you, Mom."

"I love you too, sweetie. Bye."

"Bye, Mom." Blair hung up the phone and sighed. //Poor Harold. Dug his grave with one too many trips to the opera house,// Blair thought, laughing a little and shaking his head.

* * *

After arranging a leave of absence from their home PD, Hutch busied himself the larger part of the days working the final aspect of the case, which was hunting down Sherman. Starsky seemed happy to have a little time to get to know his son better while he was confined to the hospital, so in between his commitments at the University, Blair spent most of his free time there, hauling in photo albums and basically telling his father the story of his life from birth to the present. Within the span of two weeks, the two men had forged a bond that seemed as if it had been there all of Blair's life.

"No photo albums today?" Starsky asked from where he was propped up in bed. He'd been dressed in his own pajamas for about a week now, in the final stages of his hospital stay before being released.

"I have to take more pictures. I'm all out." Blair sat on the edge of the bed near the foot. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm ready to fly out the window if they don't let me outta here pretty soon."

"Better, huh?"

"Much."

"Good."

"I'd feel even better if you'd level with me what's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"You look like someone just ran over your puppy. What's wrong, kid?" Starsky nudged Blair's hip with his foot.

"It's Jim."

"What about him?" There was an edge in Starsky's voice and a flare of something in his eyes that told Blair his father was ready to take Jim on from his hospital bed if the other man had hurt Blair in some way.

"I think things are falling apart between us. I mean, it's nothing obvious... We're still sleeping in the same bed, kissing a little sometimes, but not much. It's like he just lost interest. And it's all my fault."

"When there are two people involved, it's pretty unlikely it's all one person's fault alone." Starsky took off the glasses he'd been using to read the magazine that was lying forgotten on his lap since Blair's arrival.

"We tried to have sex and I blew it. And ever since then, he hardly comes near me that way. I mean, when things were rough and I needed him, he'd hold me, and he still kisses me good night and good morning and stuff like that, but he never _tries_ anything."

"Do you?"

"I feel like he doesn't want me that way."

"What did you mean when you said you blew it?"

"This is kind of hard to talk about."

"Would it help if I said I could just about guarantee it won't shock me?" Starsky smiled. "Just proving I was your father doesn't mean I changed into something different from the guy you were talking about sex with in the break room."

"Jim tried to...to...top me, and it hurt and he had to stop." Blair looked down. "I mean it hurt _bad_. I couldn't stand it."

"He didn't force the issue, did he?" Starsky asked directly.

"Never. He was great about it. I wanted him to keep pushing, but he refused. He wouldn't hurt me for anything. But the thing is, he hasn't tried it again."

"Well, getting half in and half out and not being able to finish what you start is right up there with being dangled by your thumbs over a pit of sharks. It isn't something you'd pick out if you could avoid it. I know, I've been there. Don't tell Hutch I told you."

"I thought you said it hurt the first time, but I got the feeling you went through with it."

"The first time we actually _succeeded_ at anything, it hurt, but it felt good at the same time. But I made the mistake of urging Hutch to keep going even though the pain was just killing me. The result was that I hated that kind of sex for about three years out of our relationship. I put up with it in the interests of fairness, but it was like paying my dues, not making love."

"And Hutch did it to you anyway?"

"I'm a pretty fair actor, kid." Starsky laughed a little, remembering back to when sex had been such a major "issue" foremost in his and Hutch's minds--just getting their sex life on an even keel and settled had been a full-time job. "And your body sometimes responds--I came most of the time. But the worst mistake you can make is forcing the issue when it hurts like that. It gives you a negative view of the whole thing. When it came to Hutch, he was more open about it, and when the pain and the stretching was more than he felt he could stand, he asked me to stop."

"So how'd you get over feeling negative about it?"

"Well, we finally talked it all out, and I came clean that I didn't really enjoy it, and we went through a lot of experimenting and buying videos and reading books and finally we found some techniques that helped me enjoy it. With Hutch, nature just seemed to take its course, and eventually, he relaxed and it went fine."

"You had more than one disaster?"

"I'm not going to count them off right now, but I promise you there was more than one," Starsky responded, laughing.

"But I don't know what to do. It's like he doesn't even feel sexually attracted to me anymore."

"Do you come on to him?"

"No. I feel like he doesn't want me."

"Blair, look, if you sit in the corner and wait for him to come after you, you're probably going to suffer a deadly case of blue balls and die a sexually frustrated old man. The last time he got aggressive, he hurt you. So now it's up to you to make the next move. He's giving you space, dummy, not ignoring you."

"How did you relax? I can't. Just thinking about it...makes me tense."

"What position were you in for the disaster?"

"On my knees," Blair responded quietly, turning a deeper shade of red.

"If you straddle Jim so you're on top, that puts you in control of how fast things move. Trust me, it's a lot less scary that way, and you have less of a tendency to 'brace yourself'."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"I think it will. Look, Blair, there's one problem that you've gotta face when you're trying to launch something like this. With gay couples, sometimes 'the big one'--penetration--isn't a major part of things. If they don't like it, it might not be a frequent part of their sex lives. But when you've got two previously straight guys getting together, you've got what amounts to two tops and no bottoms in a homosexual relationship." Starsky sighed, looking away as if searching for the right explanation. "When Hutch and I got together, it was out of love, and the lust followed."

"It's the same way with Jim and me, but the lust isn't following."

"Is the lust missing or are you afraid of what it's going to mean if you act on it, and Jim's waiting for you to make the first move because he doesn't want to pressure you?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe what?" Starsky asked, laughing a little at the ambiguous answer.

"I'm not making any moves on him either."

"He's not going to force you."

"Never."

"Then tell him this--tell him what you're afraid of."

"I don't want to just...whine at him about it. I feel so stupid. I'm not exactly inexperienced in bed. Now as soon as I get into this relationship with Jim, I've done all but wear a chastity belt to bed."

"What _is_ that contraption, anyway? I always wondered."

"I'll find a picture of one. I know it's in one of the Anthro books at my office."

"You're going to talk to Jim, right?" Starsky persisted.

"If you were him, would you think I was being wussy about this? Be honest."

"Did it ever occur to you that Jim's not any more confident about this than you are? With Hutch and me--we practically needed to sit on the bed with an instruction manual to figure out some of the positions. We made mistakes, we had disappointments, we had some mind-blowing sex when we got things right--but we did it together. Struggle alongside Jim, not without him. He's no more experienced or 'good' at this than you are. He probably feels a huge burden of pressure here, thinking he's expected to know everything about how to proceed. The one time he did, he hurt you, so now he's scared to touch you for fear of messing things up."

"I'll talk to him about it tonight." Blair nodded, realizing there was a lot of truth in what his father was saying. Then he smiled at that thought. //Advice from Dad...//

"What?" Starsky was half-smiling too, watching Blair's expression.

"I was just thinking... Seems really odd to be getting advice from my father. Seems...really good."

"I've got to wonder if I'd been around when you were a kid, if we could have been friends. I know some parents can do it--be friends with their kids and be parents too."

"I'd like to think so. I wasn't really all that bad when I was a kid--I mean, you wouldn't have had to come down on me all the time. I gave Naomi a few fits, but not too many. But then she doesn't ruffle easily either," Blair added.

"These guys your mom dated--they were okay guys?"

"Some of them."

"The ones who weren't?"

"Most of them just didn't like me or thought I was a dork. I was, honestly," Blair concluded, laughing. "I was a puny little kid with glasses who spent most of his time with his nose in a book. I liked baseball, but I wasn't very good at it until high school, and then I was in accelerated programs, and ended up going to college at 16, so I didn't spend much time there. I learned how to play basketball when I got to Rainier. I wasn't on the team or anything, but when I turned 18 and moved into the dorms, I had a couple of roommates who wouldn't let me alone until I got out of the library or away from my desk for a few hours here and there to do something besides study. They taught me how to play, and I got pretty good at it."

"They treated you okay? The guys your mom was with?"

"Only a couple of them were real jerks. As soon as Naomi knew something wasn't right, she dumped them. One guy pushed me around when she wasn't looking and the other was just insulting. He'd call me 'four eyes' and things like that. I was thirteen, and he decided he was going to 'make a man out of me'--dragging me out and trying to teach me how to fight--things like that. She didn't like him much anyway, so when she found out he was trying to pull this big macho kick with me, he didn't last."

"It's still hard sometimes, when I think about all the time we missed. I just hope you had a good childhood. I can't change it now, but I still don't want to think you had a really bad time of it. But I'd want to know if you did."

"Naomi was a great mom--she loved me a lot. I always knew that. I don't...sometimes I don't think she really wanted to have a child _when_ she did. I think she wanted one eventually, because it wasn't like she resented me or anything. But I know there were plenty of times when it got in the way of her really living her life to the fullest the way she wanted to. I think she would have been happier if she could have had her freedom for a while, then settled down and had a child."

"When I get out of here, Hutch and I are going to have to go back to LA," Starsky stated quietly. "They're talking about letting me out in a couple days."

"I'm glad you're doing well enough to get released. That's great," Blair said, mustering a smile that didn't have its usual radiance.

"This isn't a kiss-off, Blair."

"I know." Blair was a bit embarrassed to feel the lump rising in his throat, so he didn't say anything else. He spent an inordinate amount of time fidgeting with the button the cuff of his brown plaid shirt.

"Blair." Starsky waited until Blair looked up at him again. "I'm gonna miss you too, kid." He smiled. "That's what phones and airplanes are for."

"With our schedules, it's never going to be easy."

"When you're free, you come to LA and visit. You're used to riding with cops now, so even if I have to work, that's no reason you can't come and spend some time. And you're welcome to bring Jim if he wants to come. We've got a great guestroom that overlooks the ocean. Just call us and let us know you're coming."

"And you know you'd be welcome to come here anytime at all."

"Okay, so that's a little less depressing, isn't it? I'm not going home to China or something. Just LA. Besides, I want you to come and see me there. I want a chance to show off my kid to my friends back home."

"You mean that?" Blair asked, looking both pleased and surprised.

"Sure I mean it. Why wouldn't I? Blair, I told you from the start that I'm very proud of you. That hasn't changed. I really haven't earned them, but I still want bragging rights."

Blair bit his lower lip and reached out tentatively to pat Starsky's knee.

"Come here, kiddo. You can do better than that." Starsky held out his left hand, since his right side was still less that completely mobile as he favored the healing incision.

"What about your incision?"

"Just don't put weight on the right side." Starsky pulled the younger man close against him, Blair's arm lightly resting over his waist while the other arm came up behind Starsky's back, so Blair was essentially hugging his left shoulder. "My going home to LA isn't the end of anything, Blair. I want to be part of your life."

"Me too." Blair hesitated a moment. "I wanted to find you for so long."

"If I'd known about you, I'd have found you--you know that, don't you?" He gave Blair a little squeeze.

"I know. I wish you had known."

"Oh yeah, so do I," Starsky said regretfully, resting the side of his head against Blair's. "I know you're going through some tough stuff right now, but you remember I'm here for you. I don't care if I'm sitting here or in LA. If you need me, you call me. Got it?"

"Got it," Blair repeated in a strained voice, still hanging on for dear life. He didn't know how well his next words would be received, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to chance it. "I love you, Dad."

There was a long pause, and then a hand came up to press Blair's head more firmly against his father's shoulder. A watery voice answered him. 

"I love you too, son."

Continued in part eight.


	8. Chapter 8

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from seven. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part eight  
by Candy Apple

"I've been following my nose all the way upstairs," Jim announced as he walked in the door of the loft. 

"I got take-outs from Tony's," Blair responded, setting a chilled bottle of wine on the table.

"Here I thought you slaved over a hot stove for me," Jim replied, heading into the kitchen to wash his hands.

"I was going to make something, but then I decided to get something you'd actually _like_." Blair laughed a little as he carried the large tray of lasagna to the table. "I even got some of their Italian salad. You wanna grab it out of the fridge?"

"Sure." Jim pulled out a large cardboard dish with a lid on it and headed toward the table. "What do you mean, something I'd _like_? I like your cooking just fine."

"Yeah, but I don't cook the really good stuff with all the cheese and meat and unhealthy stuff in it."

"I'll corrupt you eventually."

"Don't hold your breath, man." Blair joined Jim, sitting at the table, and the two men started dishing up food. 

"How's Starsky doing?" Jim asked, poking into his salad.

"Okay. Better. He's probably going to be released in a couple days, and then he'll be going home to LA."

"How do you feel about that?" Jim asked through a mouthful of salad.

"When he first said it, the first thing that crossed my mind was that he was trying to get rid of me. I know that's not fair, but it still was my first thought. Like, 'gee, it's been real' and then he'd leave and that would be it."

"I can't picture him doing that. Of course, if he hurts you, he'll be back in the hospital soon anyway, so you can see even more of him." Jim smiled faintly as he poured their wine. 

"He invited us both to come out there and visit--said they've got a beautiful guest room that overlooks the ocean. I was thinking maybe we could go for Thanksgiving. I mean, he didn't invite me for it or anything, and I don't want to intrude, but it would still be really cool."

"Why don't you run the idea by him? He'd probably like it."

"What about your dad? Did he say anything about the holidays this year?"

"If we do Thanksgiving with _your dad_ , we can always do Christmas with mine. Of course, my dad and I have to have a little talk before then."

"Jim, about that..." Blair moved his salad around for a few moments before finishing his sentence. When he did, he had Jim's undivided attention. "I want us to start trying again. I know I haven't really made any moves toward you lately, and after what happened... I know it's probably hard for you to make them on me--not knowing how far I can handle going."

"It's a little tricky, but it's worth the effort," Jim responded, abandoning his fork to take a hold of Blair's hand where it rested on the table. "I love you, sweetheart. I'm in this for life. That gives us plenty of time to work our way up to things."

"You're not too frustrated yet?" Blair asked, covering Jim's hand with free hand.

"Never, baby. I'm not frustrated with you at all. The timing's just been wrong. You were worried about your dad, and that was a big upheaval, even if it was a good one. The case has been a real bitch all the way around... I'm glad we waited. Our first time should be something memorable--not just a quickie when our schedule permits."

"I thought maybe...never mind."

"What?"

"I thought maybe you were changing your mind about me. I know that was stupid, but when you didn't try touching me--you know, _touching_ me, I thought it was a bad sign. But I realize now it was just as much my own fault if things weren't happening. I haven't been making any moves on you either." 

"Maybe we should do something about that--purely to prevent any future...miscommunications," Jim opined, moving his hand to pull Blair toward him until the other man straddled his lap. Blair let his arms rest loosely around Jim's neck. "Now, we have a matter of some salad here." He reached behind Blair and plucked a fat black olive out of his salad. Running it lightly back and forth, he coated Blair's lips with the Italian dressing, then popped it in his lover's mouth. Blair took the opportunity to trap Jim's forefinger between his lips, sucking on the tip. After he released it, he began chewing the olive, and Jim pulled him down for a long kiss, moving their tongues and the captive olive back and forth between them.

When they parted for air, Jim began licking the dressing off his partner's mouth. Running his hands up and down Blair's back, he smiled. 

"Now, what was this you were saying about me changing my mind about something?" Jim asked, kissing Blair's chin where he saw a tiny drop of Italian dressing.

"I'm still nervous about...you know."

"So am I, sweetheart. It's okay. When the time's right, it'll happen."

"You want to finish dinner first?" Blair asked, grinning.

"I'm eating dessert first," Jim countered, pulling Blair close for another long kiss. "But I might need my energy later. Just lift your butt a little and move with me." Jim slid the chair closer to the table, turning it slightly so he could reach his plate. He took his fork and skewered a choice bite of lasagna, raising it to Blair's mouth. The other man ate it, then took the fork from Jim and mirrored the gesture. They paused to kiss, then began the cycle again. It was destined to be a very long meal.

When all of Jim's plate was clean as well as part of Blair's, both men agreed to give up on the food portion of their routine and stick with the kissing. After several long minutes of exploring each other's mouths, Blair started rocking, rubbing his hardening shaft against Jim's through the multiple layers of fabric that separated them.

"Upstairs?" Blair suggested.

"Yeah." Jim waited for Blair to move off his lap, and then rose, grabbing onto his lover's offered hand and heading up the steps to the loft bedroom. 

Once upstairs, Jim made short work of the buttons on Blair's shirt, and in one swift gesture, sent Blair's t-shirt to join it on the floor. He kissed a trail down Blair's jaw to his throat, then across the soft skin to his shoulder, his hands fumbling for the younger man's belt. Determined not to miss out on the action, Blair managed to get Jim's shirt open and made the necessary moves to get Jim's arms out of the way long enough to dispense with it and the tank shirt below it. 

Jim unbuckled Blair's belt and unzipped his jeans, carefully pushing them and his boxers down in one long, carefully slide, freeing the swollen cock from the fabric confines. He steadied his partner while the other man toed off his shoes and kicked the pooled fabric out of the way. Blair divested Jim of the last of his clothing in much the same way, and the two men fell together on the bed, kissing and writhing each other, hands everywhere.

"I want my dessert," Jim growled playfully, pinning Blair's wrists down to the mattress as his lover lay on his back, his legs spread to accommodate Jim between them. The big smile on Jim's face made Blair laugh softly at the demand.

"What did you have in mind?"

"One deluxe Sandburg, topped off with a little fresh...cream," he added, flexing his eyebrows. Then his face became serious. "Let me explore you, Blair. Every part of you. I want to smell you and taste you and fill up every sense with you."

"Whatever you want," Blair responded, finding that he truly meant it. He didn't trust anyone else on earth the way he trusted Jim, and as excited as he was, he felt game to try almost anything.

"Relax, sweetheart," Jim said softly, moving up to lift one of the wrists to his mouth, licking and sucking at each finger, trailing his tongue over the palm, nibbling his way down the arm to the crease of the elbow and up the underside of Blair's upper arm to his shoulder, across his chest and down the other arm in a reversal of his treatment of the first arm. 

He returned to the center of Blair's throat and began a series of little licks and kisses, and the occasional deep breath, drawing his lover's scent deep into his system. He stopped to tease a nipple with the tip of his tongue, flicking at it as Blair arched and groaned under him. Smiling, he lowered his mouth on it and sucked hard, dragging a broken cry of pleasure from his lover. He released Blair's arms and immediately felt the other man's hands in his hair, holding his mouth right where it was.

"Jim...please...other one..." Blair managed. Jim licked his way to the other nipple and began his work there, having left a wet, hard peak behind.

"God, Chief, you taste so damn good," Jim panted against Blair's taut nipple.

"Better than lasagna?"

"Definitely." Jim resumed his trail down the line of hair to Blair's navel. 

"I'm better for you, too. I won't clog your arteries." Blair laughed when Jim burst out laughing against the skin of Blair's stomach, making the most ungodly noise.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that talking about nutrition during sex is a turnoff?" he teased.

"I gotta do my lecturing when I think it'll get through," Blair responded, grinning.

"Shhh," Jim said, still smiling and resuming his work on Blair's stomach, dipping his tongue into the little valley of his navel, feeling the rigid erection poking him in the chin as he licked and kissed the tender skin below Blair's navel. "Relax, baby. Just want to taste you," Jim said huskily, encouraging Blair's legs up off the mattress until the younger man was lying there, hands under his knees, pulling his legs up and spreading them wide.

"Ohhh...Jim..." Blair moaned as he felt the hot tongue caress his balls and the base of his shaft. "Please," he begged, praying the hot mouth would do something for his straining, leaking arousal.

"Patience, baby." Jim kissed and licked his way down Blair's perineum, pausing, and then poking his tongue into the tight opening. Blair started thrusting in time with the movement of his tongue, whimpering needfully at the same time. Finally taking mercy, he wrapped his hand around the base of Blair's shaft and engulfed the upper half in his mouth. Blair let out a wail then, his legs resting on Jim's shoulders, his hands clutching fistfuls of the sheets.

Not positive of the exact technique, but knowing what he liked to feel on the receiving end of this act, Jim did his best to keep his teeth off his lover's tender skin, and concentrated on stimulating the sensitive head, teasing the weeping slit with his tongue. He grabbed onto Blair's ass with his free hand, attempting to hold him still while he let more of the large cock into his mouth. He knew he couldn't take it all the way yet, and he had to know that Blair wasn't going to thrust up instinctively and unexpectedly. 

He started a rough massage of Blair's buttocks while he picked up the tempo of his sucking. Blair was writhing as much as he could, and started letting out a series of guttural, broken grunts of pleasure with each motion. Finally, Blair's body stiffened out and hot liquid shot down Jim's throat, which he worked hard to swallow completely. He finally released the flaccid organ, licking around it to clean any drops that escaped during Blair's orgasm.

Blair lay there, panting and shaking in the aftermath, crawling eagerly into Jim's arms when the other man slid up on the bed next to him. 

"Jim...Oh, man... That was so good. I love you so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Jim claimed Blair's mouth, letting the other man taste himself there. 

"My turn," Blair said, smiling, rolling them from their sides onto Jim's back with Blair atop him. 

Blair started his travels over Jim's body with a soft kiss to his lover's forehead, then moved down to kiss each eyelid, both cheeks, the tip of Jim's nose, and twice on the mouth he had to coach out of it's soft smile long enough to get some lip action. He put all the love he felt behind the kisses he peppered over Jim's face, neck and shoulders. When he reached the first of the taut nipples, he tentatively lapped at it, and spurred on by Jim's little groan of approval, he began lightly sucking on it, then wetly kissed his way to the other and brought it to the same hardness.

Jim's hands tangled in Blair's hair and pulled him back up for another long kiss. Blair considered his position for a moment, and looked into Jim's eyes. 

"I want to try again," he said softly.

"Blair, I...you don't have--"

"I know I don't have to. I _want_ to. Can we try it like this? Me straddling you?"

"Absolutely, sweetheart. It'll probably go in a little deeper like this."

"Yeah, but I...I feel like I'm still sort of in control of things."

"You always are, baby. All you have to do is say 'stop'. I don't care if we're suspended from the ceiling."

"Maybe when I'm a little more experienced, man," Blair quipped.

"Smart ass." Jim pulled him down for another kiss. "I got some better stuff--better than the lotion. It's in the night stand."

"Okay." Blair crawled over to get it while Jim shifted himself on the bed so there was a pillow under his head. "You bought KY?"

"No, I stole it. Of course I bought it, Chief," Jim responded, laughing. "I bought about eighty bucks worth of groceries just so I could be unobtrusive about it, but I _did_ go through the check out with it," Jim admitted, chuckling. Blair laughed a little then, looking at the tube like it was a gift in itself. "The lotion wasn't all that great of a lube, baby. I thought this might make you a little more comfortable." He stroked Blair's thigh lovingly. 

"I love you, you know." Blair caught the hand on his thigh and held onto it. 

"I know. Almost as much as I love you."

"More."

"No way." Jim caught Blair around the waist and tossed him back on the bed, smothering him with eager lips. 

"A tie?" Blair offered, breathing hard, smiling through red, kiss-swollen lips.

"A tie it is." Jim kissed Blair's mouth again quickly, and let his lover move up on his knees. 

"Will you get me ready?" He handed Jim the lube.

"I'd love to, angel." He stroked Blair's cheek and kissed his forehead.

Blair turned around and straddled Jim, on hands and knees, facing the foot of the bed. He felt some movement behind him, and then the barest touch of soft lips to his center. Jim kissed him gently there, but not quickly, then moved back to start preparing him.

"Watch out I don't bump you, sweetheart. I'm going to give you something to lean on here." Jim drew his knees up a bit, with his feet flat on the bed. Instinctively, Blair relaxed against the strong thighs and held onto Jim's knees. The extra support made it easier for Blair to let his muscles relax without so much weight on them. He could feel Jim's hard-on nudging at his own rapidly engorging shaft. "I'm going to start out with one. Just say so if it doesn't feel good."

Blair relaxed against the support of Jim's legs, and accepted the sensation of one slow, gentle finger spreading cool, slippery gel around his opening.

"You're so beautiful, sweetheart. Love you so much," Jim said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Want to show you all that love." He carefully eased the finger inside the tight ring of muscle. Blair tensed a little, but soon relaxed again, liking the feeling of the slippery digit rubbing firmly at the walls of his tight passage. A little murmur of approval slipped from his lips as he started really enjoying the more aggressive movement of the finger. 

"More," he said simply, starting to move a little with the motion of Jim's finger.

"Coming, baby." Jim eased the finger out and returned with two. Blair panicked a bit at the initial stretching sensation, and clutched Jim's knees like they were life preservers. "Calm down, angel. Let your muscles relax. Nothing's going to move until you're ready, baby." Jim stroked Blair's back and buttocks in long, soothing strokes with his free hand, keeping his two fingers just inside Blair's entrance.

"Okay," Blair said, letting out a long breath. He wanted to feel the stretching increase, and spread his legs a little wider to invite Jim inside. The two fingers slowly eased in and stretched and massaged, patiently working until Blair was rocking on them, letting out little moans of pleasure. He grabbed Jim's knees and let out a howl when Jim's finger brushed his prostate. Panting, Blair asked, "Can you do that when you're in there?"

"Probably can't avoid it, sweetheart."

"Do it more, please!" Blair tried to force himself farther down on the impaling fingers. Jim brushed over the little gland three times in rapid succession, each time dragging a scream of pure, unabashed ecstasy out of Blair. He eased the fingers out, and Blair groaned.

"I'm coming in with three, baby. You're going to feel stretched now. Let me know if--"

"Just get back in me, please!" Blair thrust his ass up invitingly, begging for more stimulation. Jim obliged, stretching him with three fingers now, rotating and scissoring them. "God, Jim, do that thing again...make me scream...please...it felt so g-Goooood!" Blair shouted as Jim found the little gland again and rubbed over it firmly several times, leaving Blair crying out and thrusting wildly down on Jim's fingers and rubbing his groin against Jim's engorged cock.

"I think it's time, baby." Jim withdrew his fingers, and Blair eagerly turned around and straddled Jim again, taking the tube and after warming a liberal amount in his hands, coated Jim's length. "Okay, sweetheart. I need to get lined up here. Don't move until I tell you." Jim reached down and aligned his cock with the entrance to Blair's body. "Ready to take a little?" he asked in a strained voice, wondering if he'd have the control to ease Blair through this phase of things.

"Yeah," Blair replied, enthusiastically. Jim felt the head of his cock pop past the tight ring of muscle. Blair's eyes bulged a little, and he froze in place, but he didn't seem to be in pain exactly. Jim brought both hands up now to steady Blair's waist, pacing his descent even more slowly than Blair himself would have. 

Blair had a bruising grip on Jim's arms, fearing and yet welcoming each new stretch as the large, hard, hot invader made its way along his snug tunnel. He groaned a little as they made it to the final stages. It was hurting a bit now, going very deep and stretching him to his limits and a little beyond. But finally, his buttocks rested on Jim's pelvis. They were fully joined. 

"Just stay still, baby. Let yourself adjust," Jim managed, feeling like his tormented cock was being compressed by wet velvet, and yet not able to move to relieve the pressure.

"It feels...good...but it still...hurts a little," Blair said, shifting experimentally.

"Don't move, sweetheart. I have an idea." Jim stuffed all the pillows behind his back with one arm, the other hand still caressing Blair's side and back. Leaning back, he found he was raised up almost to a sitting position. "Okay, slowly move down on me. Let me hold you, huh?" Blair followed the directions, wincing a little at the movement, but finding a lot of happiness in being all wrapped up in Jim's strong arms. He just lay there a few moments, letting himself get used to being impaled, feeling much safer and more loved tucked in Jim's arms, with the gentle hands caressing his back and hair, pressing his head against Jim's shoulder. "Ready to move a little, angel?" Blair nodded, hanging onto Jim for dear life, and not at all sure of what to do next. 

Jim made one slow, but very noticeable undulation and thrust from under him. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain, but it was now or never. Blair answered the movement with one of his own. Jim tried again, a little more assertively this time. Blair responded with a thrust that felt much better than the last few moves. Soon, they had fallen into a gentle rhythm together, Jim moving up and Blair answering it with a move down. Their tempo was slow and their motion a little awkward, but it was starting to feel very good. Blair raised up a little, bracing himself on either side of Jim. 

"A little harder," he groaned, writhing on the rigid cock that impaled him. His own erection was fully recovered now, and Jim grasped it with one hand and pumped in time with their movements. "Harder," Blair goaded, grunting and thrusting down harder himself. He seemed preoccupied trying to find just the point he sought. 

Jim was grunting in time with his moves now, finally freed to move inside Blair, to feel that virgin tightness squeezing his cock mercilessly. 

"Oh, God, Chief," he panted, moving faster. Blair let out a wail of his own as Jim's cock made contact with his prostate on a particularly strong stroke. Jim was pumping his cock with one strong hand, and massaging his prostate relentlessly with every thrust.

Blair's voice was just one long cry of pleasure broken and shaken by the movements of their bodies. He rode Jim enthusiastically until his entire body stiffened and stilled for a moment, his seed spilling over Jim's belly and chest.

Jim groaned loudly, moving rapidly under Blair, the clenching muscles pulling his orgasm out of him, milking him ruthlessly until he shot his completion into the deep recesses of Blair's body.

Blair slumped forward into Jim's arms, both men breathing heavily as their recovered. Jim found the strength to pull a few sweaty curls away from the side of Blair's face as his lover lay against him, head on his shoulder. 

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Jim asked quietly, kissing Blair's hair and stroking the damp curls under his hand.

"It was so beautiful," he murmured, kissing the flesh close to his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too, Blair. You're my heart and soul, baby. I love you so much. Thank you." He encouraged Blair's face up and kissed his lips this time. "I need to pull out, baby. Try moving up _real_ slowly." Blair cooperated, and Jim reached down to make sure his spent cock was still slick enough to slip out of Blair as easily as possible. It was. Blair groaned a bit at the final tug of separation. Keeping him gathered close, Jim turned them on their sides, letting Blair bring his legs together again.

"It felt so good. It's worth being a little sore for that."

"Being with you like this...it was the most amazing moment of my life, baby. Like making love for the first time."

"For me too," Blair pulled back, looking into Jim's eyes. "If this is making love, I definitely never did it before tonight," he said quietly, feeling tears burn his eyes. "I love you so much right now it scares me."

"I feel so close to you," Jim added, kissing Blair's forehead. "You've always been a part of me, but now...it's like you're really the other half of my body, as well as my soul."

"Me too." Blair wrapped his arms tightly around Jim's body, burying his face against his lover's warm, damp flesh. "You're my life, Jim. My everything."

"And you're mine. The center of my universe. Everything revolves around this one beautiful man," Jim whispered against Blair's ear.

"We did it," Blair said sleepily, a sense of accomplishment in his voice.

"There's nothing we can't do together, Chief." Jim held his lover close and kissed him thoroughly. 

"I'm sorry I took so long to be ready."

"You were well worth the wait, baby." 

"I only could do it because...you were so...perfect. You really took care of me, Jim. I felt...safe. And I could relax."

"You're the most precious thing in my life, Blair. I'll always take care of you." Jim smiled against Blair's curls and kissed his forehead again. "Feel like you could sleep a little?"

"Mmhm," Blair murmured, already halfway there.

Jim assessed his situation briefly. He was too warm, his equally hot, sweaty partner was plastered to his side, and he was sticky. With a big grin on his face, he settled in for a nap. He'd never felt better in his life.

* * *

The next time Blair opened his eyes, it was still dark in the loft, but there was a soft, dancing gold light in the room. He raised up on one elbow, both disappointed not to find Jim and curious to know what his lover was up to. 

There were two fat candles in holders on the dresser, their flames dancing merrily. Soft music wafted up from the stereo downstairs. Blair sat up and groaned a little, then smiled as he thought of Starsky's words--that he'd find lots of reasons to stand for a few days. //Wise words from Dad,// he thought, shaking his head and wincing as he stuck a couple pillows behind his back and reclined. What he really wanted right now was Jim, so he patiently waited there in the bed, figuring his partner had some romantic surprise in mind when he lit the candles. 

After thirty minutes passed with no sound from downstairs, Blair climbed out of bed and found his robe. Descending the stairs, he called out to Jim, but got no reply. Suddenly, the dancing light of the candles was nothing but eerie, and there seemed to be an unfriendly shape in every shadow. Blair moved to the light switch in the kitchen and dispelled the gloom.

Nothing was out of place. The candles were the only change in the loft's usual appearance. 

The bathroom door was ajar, and candlelight flickered in that room as well through the crack in the door. Taking a deep breath, Blair moved toward it and pushed the door open slowly. Two candles sat on the back of the toilet tank, giving the room its spooky dancing shadows. What would have been romantic with Jim was beginning to feel like something out of a late-night horror movie without him. 

Blair turned on the bathroom light and blew out the two candles. If Jim had started this as some sort of romantic surprise, he would have shown himself by now. Furthermore, he'd have never left his lover sleeping, unaware, in an apartment full of lit candles. Jim was nothing if he wasn't careful about basic safety issues.

He flipped off the bathroom light and walked into his old room. He let out an involuntary scream when he noticed a form on the bed. He flattened himself against the wall, his heart pounding, when he saw what it was. Jennifer's corpse, dressed in a black lace nightgown, lay atop the bedspread, her hands folded over her waist. The incision from the autopsy made a horrendous contrast with her blue-white skin, as did a number of other odd, blackish marks that must have been knife wounds from the murder. He ventured a closer look at her face, which was white and lifeless, her black hair and dark lashes standing out sharply against the pallor of death.

Blair tried to breathe, or speak, but no air seemed to move through his constricted throat. The sight in front of him was so atrocious that he couldn't bear it and yet couldn't look away from it. To his horror, he noticed that the bluish fingers held a small piece of paper with his name written on it in bright red ink.

//She's dead. She isn't going to reach up and grab you because you get closer to her,// Blair reasoned with himself. //Not with your bare hands, dummy,// the voice of reason interjected. //Fingerprints.// 

He found a kleenex in a box on the dresser and used it to carefully pluck the note from her dead fingers. He could smell the rancid odor of death in the air when he approached the corpse, and realized it was probably rapidly warming up in the cozy loft after having been artificially preserved in the refrigerated storage of the morgue. 

Carefully opening the note with the kleenex, he read the dreaded message, printed neatly in the same red ink as his name: 

"Someone to keep you company now that your lover's gone."

Blair dropped the note and rushed into the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach in a violent wave of vomiting. Pausing only long enough to swish out his mouth with a handful of water, Blair staggered to the phone in the kitchen and dialed Simon's number. He had no idea what time it was, but prayed the captain was putting in a late night.

"Banks," came the familiar voice over the line. Blair almost collapsed with relief.

"Simon, it's Blair."

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"Jim...he's gone...and there's...a...a...Jennifer...she's here."

"Jennifer? What are you talking about, Sandburg?" When there was no reply, Simon probed, "Are you all right?"

"Jim's gone," he repeated.

"Blair, listen to me. Are you alone in the apartment?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Sit tight. I'll be right there."

Blair dropped the phone back on the counter and braced himself on the cool counter top. Slater was dead, Maxwell was dead...that only left Sherman. Swallowing hard, Blair picked up the phone and dialed the number for the hotel where Hutch was staying. After getting no answer in his room, he called the hospital. The front desk refused to ring Starsky's room after midnight, which made Blair finally notice that it was, in fact, one in the morning. They did, however, agree to page him, since he was a police officer and Blair said it was a police emergency. Within moments, Hutch was on the line.

"Blair, what is it?"

"Jim's gone. It has to be Sherman. He left Jennifer here."

"Jennifer? Your student worker?"

"Her body," Blair said, glancing back at the shadowy bedroom, half expecting to see the dead woman standing in the doorway.

"Have you called this in?"

"I talked to Simon. But you know more about Sherman. He has Jim. There's a note, and I don't know what to do--it says Jim is my lover, and we're not out, and if Simon and everyone sees it, and then we'll be out and Jim didn't have a chance to know--"

"Blair, calm down. I know you're upset, but you've got to get a hold of yourself. If that note is evidence, left by the kidnapper, you leave it right where it is."

"I handled it with a kleenex. But I was upstairs, and I'm in my robe and the body's on my bed and they're gonna know I was in Jim's room and--"

"I'm on my way, Blair. Don't worry about 'outing' yourselves here. We've got bigger problems."

"I don't' wanna 'out' Jim. I don't care... I want everybody to know..."

There was a click and the line went dead. Blair wasn't sure if Hutch hung up or if the line had been cut. He felt some marginal relief at the sounds of the sirens. Within minutes, there was a banging on the front door.

"Sandburg!" Simon's voice cut through the haze that seemed to surround Blair's brain. He moved to the door and opened it, letting the captain and a blur of other cops into the apartment. Realizing he was naked except for his robe, Blair drew it tightly around himself, and absurdly felt that somehow every cop coming in the door would be able to tell immediately that he'd just made love with Jim a few hours earlier. //God, Jim, I'm so sorry to out you this way. I should have destroyed that note... And here I am, wandering around naked in a bathrobe, having just crawled out of your bed while there's a corpse in mine... No way to cover this now...//

"It's in my room," Blair said quietly to Simon, who led the way through the French doors while Blair stayed in the kitchen. The lingering sensations of his encounter with Jim were breaking his heart. Never in his life had he felt closer to anyone, or needed to be in anyone's arms more than he needed to be with Jim right now. He ached from the separation that had come at the cruelest possible time.

"Blair?" Hutch's voice startled him from behind.

"It's in the other room there," he said, gesturing toward the room where all the noise and commotion were going on.

Hutch joined the other cops, and Blair saw Rafe and another detective heading toward the stairs. He closed his eyes, holding his robe more tightly around himself as he stood in the kitchen, feeling like having outsiders poking around the bedroom wasn't much different than having them there to watch the lovemaking itself. The rumpled, stained sheets...God alone knew where their clothes, underwear and the lube hand ended up. It had been the most beautiful, intimate, defining moment of Blair's life, and now it was going to be reduced to crime scene information and crude jokes in the break room.

"Blair?" 

Blair spun around at the sound of his father's voice. Starsky was making his way slowly from the open apartment door to the kitchen. He was dressed in jeans and a sweater, with his jacket on one arm firmly and draped around the side where his arm was still in a sling to favor his healing gunshot wound.

"How...shouldn't you be in the hospital?" Blair asked weakly. He'd never been as glad to see anyone in his life, but he knew this kind of stress, not to mention the cold, rainy night air, wasn't good for his still-recuperating father.

"Hutch wouldn't let me come, so I took matters into my own hands. Been doin' that for years," Starsky added, smiling a little as he approached Blair. "I thought you might need a little moral support." He slid his arm around Blair's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay, kid. We'll find him."

"What if--"

"Hey, don't get started on those." He gave Blair's shoulders a little squeeze. "They don't lead anywhere productive."

"We just... I was asleep... And then the candles..."

"Okay. Why don't we sit on the couch and you tell me what happened, huh?"

"They're upstairs."

"Who? You mean the cops?" He watched as Blair nodded. "You and Jim...before all this happened...?" 

"Everything upstairs is still all...messy. But there are candles up there too...so maybe whoever it was got up there, so I couldn't keep 'em out and Jim isn't out at work, and now he is."

"This isn't your fault, Blair. It's just terrible timing. What do you drink to calm you down? Some kind of herbal stuff, isn't it? Hutch consumes that dishwater by the gallon." 

"It's over here," Blair moved toward a canister on the counter and found a tea bag, but seemed confused about what to do with it.

"You get the cup, I'll boil the water, huh?"

"Everybody'll want coffee...not this stuff."

"Everybody can make their own." Starsky turned on the water in the sink and stuck the teapot under it, filling it and then setting the pot aside to turn off the water with his good arm. He felt a little shaky yet, but not too bad. Blair was obviously very close to being in shock, and someone had to pay a little attention to his needs in the middle of all the chaos of crime lab people and swarming cops.

Setting the water on to boil, Starsky left Blair staring somewhat vacantly at the tea bag and joined the pandemonium in what used to be Blair's bedroom. 

"How in the hell did they get that corpse out of the morgue?" Starsky challenged, startling his partner more than anyone else in the room.

"Starsk, what in the hell are you doing out of the hospital?" Hutch shot back angrily.

"If she can make a trip across town, I sure as hell can." He jerked his head toward the dead woman. "What I want to know is what kind of drive up window you've got at the morgue that some flake was able to steal the body of a murder victim?" he asked Simon angrily.

"Apparently someone showed up with all the right paperwork, and the M.E.'s office released the body, thinking it was going to the funeral director. I signed off on it earlier today--to release her body to her family for burial, so everything seemed in order."

"This is a bit advanced for Sherman to pull off," Hutch commented, hoping to deflect a little of the mounting argument. The whistle of the teapot startled everyone in the room with the dead woman. 

"I'll be back," Starsky said, returning to the kitchen. Blair had the tea bag in a mug, but that was as far as he'd gotten. Starsky poured the hot water over it, and Blair bobbed the tea bag up and down in a mechanical motion. "Bring it over to the couch and take the load off, huh?" 

"Is it Sherman doing this?"

"I don't think so. He's not that smart." Starsky sat next to Blair for a moment. Rafe and the other detective were heading downstairs now, having snapped photos of the candles on the dresser and then wrapped them and the holders for evidence. Blair seemed to shrink down in the cushions, his eyes averted to the floor as the two men passed by them and set their evidence on the kitchen table, stopping to talk with Simon, who had emerged from the bedroom to let the forensics people do their work.

"I just want to find Jim," Blair said softly, sipping at his hot tea.

"I know. So do I. So do all of them. We'll find him."

"If he doesn't come back... I can't live without him," Blair said firmly, with such conviction that it made a chill run up and down Starsky's spine. Perhaps because he knew the feeling only too well. He'd faced losing Hutch on more than one occasion, and never had he believed he'd last long if the worst happened.

"Jim's a tough customer. He won't go down easy. Just keep the faith." Starsky squeezed his son's shoulder, wishing he could say something that would make the younger man feel better. Starsky couldn't honestly think of too much that could be more humiliating than having all of Jim's co-workers trudging around the apartment, two of them examining the bedroom, following the first time the two men made love for real. If it had been anything remotely similar to one of his encounters with Hutch, there were clothes and underwear all over the place, lube dropped in some strange spot, and big nasty wet splotches on the sheets. "I'm not going anywhere until Jim's back, safe and sound. I won't take off and leave you stranded, Blair. I promise." Starsky reached up and rested his hand on the back of Blair's head a moment. "You're not alone, kiddo. I'm right here."

"I'm really glad," Blair managed, shivering a little and taking another drink of his tea. 

"Tea helpin' a little?"

"Yeah, I feel a little better. But I don't think it's the tea. I'm real glad you're here, Dad." Blair glanced at the other man, still uncertain how his use of the parental title outside of the hospital would be received. He was greeted with a bright smile. 

"I think I'm gonna like that title."

"Blair?" Simon entered the room and sat on the end of the other couch. "I need to ask you some questions."

"Okay--but what about Jim?"

"We've got an APB out on Jim, and all the wheels are in motion to search for him as a missing person. I'll be supervising the case myself. But for now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened here tonight."

"I woke up, and there were candles on the dresser. I thought Jim had put them there--"

"In your room?" Simon asked, frowning. Blair realized then that there were candles in his old bedroom as well as upstairs.

"It's okay, Blair. Just tell the story, and don't worry about it," Starsky reassured, squeezing Blair's shoulder.

"I was in bed...upstairs," Blair said softly, not sure why it mattered anymore. Rafe and the other detective had seen everything. Nothing was sacred anymore. "I was sleeping, and when I woke up, Jim was gone, and there were candles--"

"You were in bed with Jim before?" Simon asked, still looking a bit stunned.

"Jim and I are...together. We just got together...after I was found."

"When were you two planning on mentioning this development?"

"Maybe after this case was wrapped up...I don't know for sure."

"I thought you needed to know what happened here tonight?" Starsky interjected pointedly. 

"You woke up and..." Simon prompted, shooting Starsky a slightly venomous look. Blair's father was undeterred, and met it unwaveringly.

"There were two candles on the dresser. I thought maybe Jim was downstairs, so I just waited. For like, half an hour. When he didn't come back, and I didn't hear anything downstairs, I went down to check things out. That's when I found Jennifer." Blair took a deep breath. "I turned on the kitchen light, and then one in the bathroom before I went into my room. When I first came down, everything was just in candle light. The note was tucked between her first and second fingers, and I pulled it out with a tissue so I didn't destroy fingerprints."

"You didn't hear anything before that?"

"No. I was sleeping really soundly." Blair took another drink of his tea, grateful to his father for helping him make it. His shattered nerves seemed a bit steadier. Whether that was the tea or Starsky's presence or some magic combination of both elements, Blair wasn't sure.

"Well, Jennifer's body was stolen from the morgue about nine p.m. You discovered this whole mess about...when?"

"Must've been about 12:45. It was almost one when I called you and then called the hospital to find Hutch. I got sick when I saw Jenny...it took me a couple minutes to get to the phone."

"When did you go to sleep?"

"We must've been asleep by about eight," Blair answered, feeling the hot flush creep up into his cheeks. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Just then, the gurney bearing Jennifer's bagged body made its way through the front door, en route to the morgue, yet again.

"Do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?" Simon asked, flipping his notepad closed. He felt two penetrating eyes on him, and looking up, saw Starsky studying him intently. The unspoken question in those eyes seemed to be "Would you be talking to him like any other witness if you hadn't just found out he was sleeping with Jim? Is that why you aren't offering him any option of staying with you?" But Starsky spoke up, breaking the silence, and the speculation.

"Someone has to be here if there's a call about Jim. Hutch and I'll stay here with Blair. We should have a couple back up units watching the building."

"Thanks for the tip," Simon shot back, rising to stand. "We have to get the monitoring equipment hooked up to the phone line and have a couple men here to man that. Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

"I'll be all right. I want to be with my son."

"We're getting the equipment hooked up, and then we'll show you how to take a call, Blair." Simon headed toward the kitchen table, where the technician had his supplies spread out to work.

"Do you want to lie down or something?" Blair asked Starsky. "I could clean things up upstairs, so you could get some sleep."

"I can catch a nap on the couch in a while if I need it. I've been in bed for two weeks, Blair. I don't mind being up a while."

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" Hutch asked through clenched teeth as he joined them in the living room. "Do you have a death wish?"

"No, and no," Starsky responded calmly. "I wanted to be with my son, and since you were too damned pig-headed to give me a ride here, I caught a cab. End of story."

"I don't think your son wants you to pop open your incision and end up in ICU again."

"He's right. It's too risky--"

"Blair, he's mother-henning. He does it all the time. After thirty years of being friends with this turkey, I'm used to it. I'm not going to pop anything by being here."

"I never should have left you any clothes. Of course, having no pants never stopped you from walking out of the hospital before."

"And it wouldn't'a stopped me tonight either. Now what's the status of things?"

"Well, forensics is dusting everything in sight for fingerprints, they're gathering up all the physical evidence. You know they've got the APB out for Jim, and beyond that...they'll haul it all back to the lab and analyze it."

"Blair? Can I talk to you for a second?" Rafe motioned to him from the front door of the apartment.

"Sure. Excuse me," he said to the other two men and joined Rafe in the doorway.

"We checked things out down by Jim's truck. His keys were in the ignition, and there were a few groceries in a bag on the seat--actually, there was a bottle of champagne and strawberries and whipped cream. If I could have stashed all of that in my coat, I would have, but I did get this. I didn't think forensics needed to bag and analyze it." Rafe produced from beneath his jacket a somewhat beleaguered single red rose attached to a large envelope which looked and felt like it contained a greeting card of some sort. Blair's name was written in Jim's handwriting on the front of it.

"Thank you," Blair said quietly, accepting the items as if they were the rarest treasures.

"Maybe you should take it upstairs before Banks spots it."

"I will. Thanks again, Rafe."

"Anytime, pal." The other man smiled and hurried back downstairs. Blair took his treasures with him and headed quickly up to the bedroom.

"Let him be for a few minutes," Hutch said as his partner followed Blair's hasty trip upstairs with concerned eyes. "He knows you're here for him."

"The timing on this couldn't have been worse." Starsky sighed. "Poor kid didn't even have time to put things away upstairs before half of Ellison's colleagues were trailing through the bedroom."

"Swell." Hutch leaned back in the cushions of the couch. "I guess Ellison's out now, whether he knows it or not."

"I guess this is my introduction to the part of being a parent that sucks--seeing your kid hurting and having no fucking way to make it any better."

"I think having you here makes a big difference, babe."

"We've both been where he is. And that's an ache nothing can help. It's a big hole in your guts that nothing fills except getting your partner back."

Blair sat on the rumpled bed and lightly touched the wilted petals of the red rose. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent, and imagined Jim waking him up with it, seeing that beautiful, soft smile that Jim saved just for him. He curled up on the side of the bed with his head on the pillow that still held a trace of Jim's aftershave. With the rose on the pillow next to him, he opened the card. The front was plain white with the red outlines of two hearts overlapping. The message "I Love You" was printed on it in the same red color. There was no printed verse inside, only Jim's writing:

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you're sleeping? I want to go to sleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning for the rest of my life. I love you, and more. It goes beyond love to something I don't have words for. Tonight was perfect...just like you. Love, Jim"

Blair held the open card against his heart and gave in to his tears, sobbing into the pillow to try to muffle the sound. If this was what a broken heart felt like, it was the most painful wound possible.

* * *

The forensics team had finally completed their work, and the cops had dispersed back to headquarters to get to work on the case. It was almost dawn, and Starsky had finally succumbed to his partner's urgings that he lie down and rest for a while. The muffled sounds of crying had carried down from the loft for a long time before they quieted, and now Hutch saw a puffy-eyed, sheepish-looking Blair come downstairs, still in his robe, carrying some fresh clothes and heading toward the bathroom. 

"Is he okay?" he whispered to Hutch, nodding toward Starsky, who was sound asleep on the couch, covered with the throw.

"He's fine. Sleeping like a baby," Hutch whispered back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get dressed and go downtown for a while. Judging by the note I found, I really don't think anybody's going to call, and Simon's leaving a couple guys here to watch the phone anyway. Think he's up to that?"

"Try to stop him," Hutch responded, smiling and shaking his head. Blair returned a small smile and headed into the bathroom.

* * *

"As near as we can tell, Jim must have made a late-night run to the grocery store, picked up a few things, and headed back toward the loft. He made it to the parking lot near the apartment, got out of the truck, and was grabbed as he was taking the grocery bag off the seat." Simon paced near his windows while Blair, Starsky and Hutch listened, seated around the conference table. 

"Whoever did the grabbing had to be pretty strong, and accomplished. Jim knows just about every move in the book," Blair responded. 

"There was no blood in the area, which eliminates the use of a gun or knife, which is a good thing."

"He could have been hit from behind," Starsky added. "Doesn't matter how good you are if someone knocks you out first."

"He would have heard someone sneaking up on him," Blair said, obviously preoccupied. In the silence that followed that statement, he realized how flimsy it sounded. "I just mean that Jim's very alert. It would have taken someone really outstanding to be able to sneak up on him."

"Not that this isn't understandable, but I think you've got Jim elevated to superhuman status here, Blair. He can't see and hear everything." Hutch took another drink of his coffee.

"He's better at it than most, that much is true," Simon added in Blair's defense. There was no way to explain to their guests how unlikely it was that anyone _could_ sneak up on Jim.

"Well, I wish we could stay on and work the case, but--"

"But nothing," Starsky interrupted his partner. "We're staying. That's final."

"You belong at home in bed."

"I _belong_ right where I am at the moment. I can take some naps at the hotel. I'll be fine."

"Hutch is probably right," Blair spoke up. "I don't want to see you endanger your recovery. Jim wouldn't want that either."

"I don't plan to overdo it. But I'm not going back to LA until this is settled. We worked the Slater case before, we had some contact with the degenerate who might be behind this."

"You said this was too advanced for Sherman," Simon countered.

"It is. I was thinking more along the lines of Mantego."

"Rudy Mantego?" Simon frowned.

"Slater used to do a little muscle work for him. Maxwell and Sherman picked up a few extra bucks that way once in a while too. So maybe this whole thing has to do with Mantego having it in for Jim or Blair. Has Ellison ever had any contacts with Mantego or one of his people?" Hutch asked.

"Not to my knowledge. I thought you went through all his old case files," Simon turned to Blair.

"Jim and I went through all of them, and I entered anyone he considered a possible into a database. I don't recall Mantego being in there, and since his name's come up before, I would have remembered."

There was a knock at the door, and Rhonda poked her head inside the office. 

"Captain Banks, Mrs. and Mrs. Theisen are here to see you. Their attorney is with them."

"Shit," Simon muttered, letting out a puff of breath. "Tell them I'll be with them in a moment." Simon waited as she nodded and backed out the door, closing it again. "Lawsuit. I knew it." 

"Maybe I could talk to them," Blair volunteered. 

"Couldn't hurt. Why don't you sit in on the meeting?"

"Sure. But how long is it gonna take? I want to do _something_ on Jim's case."

"The whole department is doing something on Jim's case, Sandburg. We've essentially turned Cascade upside down and are in the process of shaking it. I have every available cop--and a few called in off vacation--following up any minor lead we can generate. We're doing everything we can. Now I would like to turn you two loose to track down Mantego and see what he's up to. I'll give the word that you have full access to our records--if you can find a link between Jim and Mantego we missed before, we might have something to go on."

"Will do," Starsky replied, rising with some difficulty. Hutch was at his side in a flash. "I'm fine."

"You're going back to the hotel to rest. I'll follow up--"

"Hutch, dammit, I'm fine. Quit hovering. I just got a little fuzzy for a minute."

"He's right. You need your rest. Please don't set yourself back. Jim would say the same thing if he were standing here," Blair said to his father, who seemed to pause to listen to him. 

"You have an empty cell in lock-up?" Starsky asked.

"Oh for God's sake," Hutch snapped.

"I meant one that was by itself, like a holding cell. All I need is to rest for a couple hours. Then I could get back in the action."

"I can come up with something better than that. The chief's on vacation. His secretary can let you into his private waiting room. He has a big leather sofa in there. Her name's Justine. Just tell her Simon sent you up."

"Justine, huh?" Starsky repeated, grinning a little. 

"We've gone out a few times," Simon said with a dismissive gesture.

"I'll tell Justine you said 'hi'." 

"You do that." 

"You're crazy," Hutch said to his partner, shaking his head. "You were in ICU ten days ago."

"And now I'm not. Rhonda knows the way upstairs?" Starsky asked Simon.

"Sure. She'll be glad to take you up."

"I bet she will," Hutch muttered under his breath as he opened the door for his partner to pass through into the bullpen.

* * *

Blair unlocked the door to the loft and went inside to find the same two detectives playing cards at the kitchen table. No calls had been received. Starsky and Hutch had retreated to their hotel for some much needed rest. Blair had turned down their offer to stay at the loft with thanks, figuring that the movement of the round the clock detectives and his own restless ruminations would probably keep his father awake most of the night, even if he fixed up the upstairs bedroom for them. Plus, he wasn't sure how comfortable they were being that much of a couple in front of the police personnel who were coming and going.

Not really regretting the absence of guests as he was too tired to make conversation, Blair fell into the cushions of the couch to open his mail.

"I hope you guys have been helping yourselves to the food," he said to the two cops at the table.

"Yeah, we have, thanks," the older of the two men answered. 

"Nothing all day, huh?" Blair asked, his face scrunching in confusion as he pulled a large manilla envelope out of the pile that was addressed to him. It must contain something important, he reasoned, since there was a stiff backing, probably cardboard, inside of it.

"Nothing at all," the same cop answered. "You got a couple calls from students. Their numbers are on the counter by the phone."

"Thanks," Blair responded a bit absently as he pulled a manilla folder out of the envelope. He flipped open the cover and felt his whole sense of reality and consciousness spinning away.

He was greeted with an 8x10 glossy color photo of an elaborate and expensive mahogany casket, lined with a rich cream-colored velvet. A spray of roses decorated the closed lower half, and in the upper half, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, face composed in the serenity of death, was Jim.

The scream that rose up from Blair's soul died in his throat as everything went black.

Continued in part nine.


	9. Chapter 9

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from eight. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part nine  
by Candy Apple

Jim fought the lethargy he felt and finally opened his eyes. Looking around, he found the opposite of what he expected. He knew someone had gotten the drop on him, and vaguely remembered knowing he was being moved against his will. But instead of coming to on the floor of a basement or a warehouse or locked in the trunk of someone's car, he found himself tucked comfortably into a large, soft bed made up with the finest of sheets and a fluffy blue comforter. The room itself looked as if it were in an old house, with plenty of ornate, polished woodwork, long windows and vintage furnishings.

All of which unnerved him far more than if he'd come to in one of the less desirable locations. 

He moved his limbs, relieved to find none of them broken. His head was a bit foggy from what must have been a monstrous slug of sedatives, but otherwise, he was uninjured. He pulled himself into a sitting position in the ornate canopy bed and looked around the room more carefully. It was definitely a woman's room--every detail carrying out the Victorian theme to perfection, right down to the little glass perfume bottles with the squeeze pumps on the dresser.

He focused every sense on trying to ascertain, first, if Blair was in this house anywhere. His hearing detected no trace of the familiar heartbeat, and his nose no trace of his mate's scent. Nothing. But there was someone else in the house, moving about on the first floor.

Judging by the lighting in the room, it was night. A few antique lamps lent a soft glow to his surroundings. Getting up stealthily, he moved toward the window. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. //At least they didn't dress me up in some God-forsaken nineteenth century men's nightie,// he thought, taking in his reflection in the simple suit of sweats. //Stocking feet aren't ideal for climbing trees, but I'll just have to make do. Now if there's just a damn tree somewhere near this window...//

"Shit," he muttered, pulling back the drapes to come face to face with solid brick.

Footsteps on the stairs jerked his attention to the door of the room. //I could play 'possum and then spring up,// Jim mused, moving quietly toward the bed. //Son of a bitch probably heard the fucking floorboards and that's why he's here. And the goddamn door's in the corner of the room, so if I stand behind it, it won't open all the way. Don't know how much firepower I'm dealing with...// Deciding to face his captor without subterfuge--at least for now--Jim waited as the door lock clicked and the knob turned.

"I see you're awake." A man of medium height with gray hair and glasses stood in the doorway. Dressed in a shirt and cardigan sweater, the man could have been a buddy of his father's. 

"What is this?" Jim gestured irritatedly at his surroundings. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dominic Mantego. Ring any bells?"

"You're some relation to Rudy Mantego?"

"My son. You probably never heard of my beautiful daughter, Irene, have you?"

"Ah, no, I can't say I have. What does this have to do with me anyway?"

"Almost nothing, unfortunately. You're just a means to an end. It's your little hippie faggot lover I'm after."

"If you've touched Blair, I swear to God I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"Quite a threat coming from a man looking down the barrel of a .45," the older man retorted, smiling and releasing the safety on the gun he was pointing at Jim. "Trust me, the pleasure is all yours. I have no desire to touch him. He's just fine. Well, a bit distressed, probably, but I didn't harm him." He laughed humorlessly. "I'll never understand what a man gets out of playing grab ass with his own kind. What is it? All that long hair? The earrings?"

"Leave Blair out of this. Obviously this has something to do with me or I wouldn't be here."

"Well, I tried to deal with your boyfriend directly, but you managed to ride in on your white horse and rescue him. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I was going about it all wrong. Sending goons out to slap him around was pointless. If I wanted to hit him where it really hurt, my best route was via one Detective James J. Ellison, Cascade PD. I never expected you to step into my trap so easily. Nocturnal run to the store from champagne and strawberries. I thought that only happened in cheap romance novels."

"Why are you after Blair anyway?"

"My daughter, Irene, was one of his students a few years back. Her last name was Palmer. My wife took back her maiden name and changed Irene's name after we were divorced. I got custody of Rudy, and she took Irene--well, until Irene turned 18, and then she decided to come back to live with me." He gestured toward an ornate chair near where Jim stood. "You might as well take the load off. You're not going anywhere."

"If you pursue whatever thing it is you're planning, you're going up for the rest of your life, you know that, don't you?"

"Well, they have to catch me first. And even then, what do I care? Ten years in the can and I'll be dead anyway." He waved the gun at Jim. "I said, sit down." Reluctantly, Jim sat, as did his captor, in a similar chair much handier to the door.

"So you're planning to kill me to get at Blair for...what? Flunking your daughter?"

"It's a bit more complex than that. Irene was only 19 when she met your Mr. Sandburg. If it weren't for him, she'd be alive today."

"You hold Blair responsible somehow for your daughter's death?"

"Very good, detective. You catch on fast."

"If you'd like to cut to the chase here, I wouldn't object."

"My daughter was in love with your boyfriend, and he treated her so badly that she lapsed into a deep depression and ultimately took her own life. Right here in this room, as a matter of fact."

"I'm sorry for your loss, but killing numerous innocent people is no great tribute to her memory."

"Don't lecture _me_. Lecture that dingbat, Slater. That was Rudy's idea. Wes Slater's out of the looney bin. Have him do the job." The old man rolled his eyes. "Take my advice--never hire a lunatic. They're not very reliable."

"Thanks for the tip," Jim mumbled sarcastically.

"The point is, what Slater tacked onto this job was his doing. And in a way, it worked pretty well. Everyone was out there hunting for Slater, and even after he was eliminated, the cops were still chasing their tails looking for that half-wit, Sherman, that he used to hang around with. He's living in Florida with some sleazy little stripper in a house trailer under the name of Mel Schultz. As far as I know, if he's been a bad boy, it's been misdemeanor shit--nothing impressive. His only claim to fame was that he was good at burying bodies--literally. The stupid bastard would dispose of _anything_ without questioning it, and the cops usually didn't find it. I often thought he was one of those...what do you call them? Savants? Total idiot good at one thing?"

"Is this leading somewhere special or are we just bonding?"

"You're not going anywhere, so you might as well relax. Let me fill you in on the set-up. If you should overpower me and make a break for the nearest exit, you'll set off an alarm as soon as you open the door. The grounds are guarded by two Dobermans I feed very infrequently, and the gates, front and back, are guarded by a couple oversized goons I feed a lot oftener but it hasn't improved their dispositions. So if you'd like to dazzle us with your Covert Ops escape training, feel free to give it a shot. I had hoped to keep you alive a while, for a variety of reasons, but if you end up getting a leg mangled by one of the dogs, or one of the guards shoot you in the head, well, que sera."

"How did you figure Blair was responsible for Irene's death?"

"She was in love with him. He led her on and then jilted her. She tried repeatedly to reconcile with him, to renew the relationship, and he rejected her over and over again until she hung herself from that light fixture right there. See the rope up around the top?" He pointed up without looking upward himself. Jim indulged in one quick glance at it. The length of rope with the frayed end was nothing less than chilling.

"You never talked to Blair about his side of things, I suppose."

"You suppose right. He's the worst kind of user--using his position to get favors from his female students and then dumping them when he's had his fun."

"You son of a--"

"Don't make the mistake of leaping to his defense. I don't have any problem with blowing your kneecaps off."

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Well, we're going to let Mr. Sandburg enjoy the suspense a while. You know, it's very touching about him finding his father. After I'm through with you, I may have to pay him a visit. As for you, you can expect to live another week or so. By then, you'll have outlived your usefulness to me." He rose from his chair. "Well, I better be going. You know, mahogany really suited you," he commented, smiling slightly as he moved toward the door, backed out of it, and pulled it closed, clicking the lock into place. 

* * *

Blair opened his eyes slightly, then the rest of the way. The first face he saw was Simon's. 

"Blair?" he asked hesitantly. "Do you know where you are?"

"Jim," Blair said softly, thinking back on the horrendous photo that had shocked him into what must have been an unconscious state. "Jim," he repeated, looking at Simon with desperate eyes.

"I saw the photo. You have to understand that there are a million ways that could have been taken without Jim being dead. Do you hear me, Blair? We have no proof that he's dead."

"The photo...he was in a casket...he looked--"

"He looked unconscious. Drugged, knocked out, maybe even sleeping and the whole thing's a computer-generated illusion with the casket. The lab's working on it now. I called Serena in to supervise. I wanted the best to take that photo apart. We're not taking this at face value." Simon looked up and spoke to one of the detectives who had been hovering around the kitchen table. "Get me a glass of water, huh?" Simon waited until he had it in hand. "Come on, Blair, sit up and shake the cobwebs out. Take a drink of this." Simon waited while Blair complied. 

"Thanks." Blair pulled himself up so he was sitting in the corner of the couch, his knees drawn up, his stocking feet on the cushion. "I can't get that picture out of my mind. Jim...de--"

"Don't even say it. It was just a photo. It could have been produced in any number of ways."

"I don't know if I can do this." Blair let his head droop against the back of the couch and felt a physical ache wrap around his heart at the thought of how desperately he needed to feel Jim's arms around him. Of how much he'd give just to see his lover smile... "I'm sorry, Simon. Maybe you might as well leave me be for a while. I'm not good company."

"You want me to call Starsky?"

"No. He shouldn't even be up and around like he is. He needs the rest. I just..." //...need Jim// his mind supplied, and he felt the burning of tears behind lids he closed to hide them.

"Listen, somebody has to spell these guys on phone watch duty. Why don't I handle that tonight, and maybe you can teach me your secret formula for picking those winners at the track, huh? Just to pass the time? I'm going to the track Sunday--"

"Simon, please, don't." Blair couldn't hold back the single tear that slid down his cheek. "I...I'm sorry. I just can't...care about anything right now." Blair brushed at his cheek. "Thanks for taking care of the picture, and bringing me around. Well, on second thought, thanks for sending the picture to the lab, anyway. I'd have preferred to stay unconscious." Blair stood up. "I'm going upstairs for a while. If anything happens, you know where to find me." Blair headed for the stairs with the weary gait of an elderly man and began his trek to the loft bedroom.

Blair crawled up on the bed he'd made earlier and curled up with Jim's pillow. He tried to force his brain to come up with some new plan of action, some approach to finding Jim that no one else had thought of. The only other person besides Jim he really wanted to see now was his father, who not only seemed to know how to say or do something that made him feel better, but whose first rate brain for criminal investigation would probably come up with some new angle. And if he didn't, his equally expert partner would. Hutch was quiet, but still waters ran deep, and what Starsky didn't think of, Hutch did.

Blair's hand encountered the card he'd stashed under Jim's pillow earlier. The rose had been pressed with wax paper into a large Anthro text, and sat on what was usually Blair's side of the bed, closer to the wall.

//Slater snatched me the first time around. Was he trying to get at Jim or at me? Was Mantego pulling his strings? If he was after me, why? What have I done that would be someone's idea of a hanging offense?// Blair rolled onto his back and stared up at the high ceiling. The answer was out there. Why couldn't he access it?

* * *

"Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"No," Hutch responded, deadpan. He heard Starsky's little chortle. "Feeling okay, Gordo?" Hutch asked, a smile evident in his voice.

"Yeah. There's some pain, but nothing new. Feels good to be back in the sack with you, babe."

"I don't know. We've made do with hospital beds before."

"I was thinking about Blair."

"Surprise," Hutch said, an affectionate tone to his voice.

"We should've stayed with him tonight. He's gotta feel about as alone as he can right now."

"You need some real rest, love. That much he was right about. Not piecemeal sleep between the changing of the shifts and him pacing the floor half the night."

"What time is it?"

"Three-thirty."

"I've been asleep since eight this evening. That's more sleep than I usually get." Starsky hauled himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed with a groan.

"Starsk, come on, get back in bed."

"Why? I can't sleep and my kid needs me."

"I need you for the next twenty or thirty years, you idiot. If you keep pushing yourself, you aren't going to be here."

"I can lie down over there if I feel lousy. Now do I gotta take a cab or are you gonna get off that great looking ass of yours and drive me there?"

"How can I resist when you turn on the charm that way," Hutch shot back sarcastically, getting out of bed and turning on a dim lamp in the hotel room. He knew the argument was won, and keeping it up was merely a waste of time.

* * *

Simon snatched the phone the moment it rang. He didn't know if Blair had managed to fall asleep upstairs or if he was just lying up there by himself being miserable. On the outside chance he was asleep, Simon was all for leaving him that way.

"Simon, it's Serena Chang. We've done every conceivable test on this photo. It's genuine. No special effects. I can't say conclusively that Jim is alive or dead in the photo, because even blown up several times its normal size, it just looks like he's sleeping. His eyes are definitely closed, but one thing I did notice I thought was a bit peculiar if he were dead."

"Which is?"

"His mouth is open a bit. Not much, but enough for him to get some air through it. I know Jim's complained about his sinuses sometimes when the weather's damp like this."

"In other words, 365 days a year."

"More or less," Serena responded, laughing softly. "But this looks like the way someone who's congested breathes when they're asleep--mouth slightly open. If he were dead, I think it would be shut tight."

"But whoever took the photo might not be that detail-oriented to make sure it was closed, even if he were dead."

"True. Like I said, it's not conclusive, and it's not terribly obvious, but to me, it looks like he's asleep, and breathing at least partially through his mouth."

"Thanks, Serena. You've put in a long night on this one."

"It's worth it if it helps. As far as the casket, Rafe is waking up every mortician in Cascade to look at a copy of the photo to ID it. First thing in the morning, I understand Megan is visiting the local florists to see if anyone recalls doing the spray, or one like it."

"I guess I should just hand you the keys to my office right now, since you've got everything under control there," Simon said good-naturedly.

"It was Megan's idea. She and Rafe were hanging out here at the lab waiting for the results, and she said they were wasting time that could be spent tracking the casket and the flowers."

"I think we were all a little too stupefied with this thing to even think about that."

"It's bizarre, there's no question about that. How's Blair?"

"I don't know. I think he's sleeping."

"Tell him we're all pulling for Jim."

"I will. Thanks again." Simon hung up just in time to hear the soft knock at the door. Moving toward it, he cursed at the poster that covered the peephole. "Who's there?"

"Starsky and Hutchinson," Hutch's voice came through the door. Simon opened it and stepped back to let them in.

"Sandburg's upstairs. I don't know if he's sleeping or not."

"Excuse me," Starsky said, heading for the stairs.

"Before you go up, you should probably know we received a little package here earlier. A photo. Whatever psycho has Jim took a picture of him all dressed up in a suit and tie--laid out in a mahogany casket with a spray of roses on it.

"Goddammit. If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch, I'll kill him myself. He'll need the fucking mahogany casket himself."

"Calm down, Starsk," Hutch said quietly.

"Calm down my ass! How would you feel to get a picture of me like that? What kind of sick bastard takes somebody's picture in a casket, huh?"

"Our lab expert seems to think he's alive--she said it looked like he was breathing through his mouth in the photo. Jim has allergies and occasional sinus problems, so that would fit," Simon explained.

"I'm going to go check on Blair. Excuse me," Starsky said, starting toward the stairs.

"Take 'em slow," Hutch admonished.

"Yes, doctor," Starsky responded, making his way slowly up the stairs to the bedroom. He saw Blair curled on his side, facing toward the stairs, his head resting on one pillow while he clutched another fiercely in both arms. His face was wet, as was the pillowcase under it. After a moment, the wet lashes flickered a little, and Blair opened his eyes. Starsky sat on the edge of the bed.

"Dad?" he said groggily.

"If you're sleepy, go back to sleep. I just want you to know I'm here." Starsky reached over with a handkerchief and wiped some of the moisture off Blair's face.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked, letting his sore eyes drift shut again.

"I'm fine, kid. Don't you worry about me." He reached around and rubbed Blair's back slowly. "It's going to be okay. You know, the lab tech thought it looked like Jim was just sleeping in that photo."

"Really?" 

"According to Banks, she thought it looked like he was breathing through his mouth--I guess it was open a little."

"Yeah, he's been sort of congested lately. Oh, God, if that's true...it _has_ to be true."

"My guess with this psycho would be that if Jim were truly dead, he wouldn't be sending you scary pictures."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I wish I could make my mind work better. I know there's gotta be a reason...something obvious that I'm missing."

"You're scared shitless, that's why you're not thinking straight. You've got to admit it, give into it, let it have its way with you and then pull yourself together and start thinking like a rational adult again. You have to do that for Jim. And I know you can."

"I can't live without him. I don't want to."

"God, do I know how you feel right now."

"You usually do." Blair pulled himself up in a sitting position. "It's so funny. I haven't known you all that long...but it's like we've always known each other."

"Maybe it's just an instinct thing--you know, parents and kids? You're the anthropologist."

"Yeah, I guess it's just hard to see when you're so close to it." Blair paused. "I have to say it. What if he doesn't come back?"

"Then we'll nail the bastard responsible for it, and pick up the pieces when we're done."

"There won't be any pieces left for me," Blair said desolately, fighting back tears.

"It's okay to cry when you're scared. I've done it myself more times than I like to remember."

"I'm plenty scared right now," Blair choked out, tears starting to flow. Starsky pulled him into a tight one-armed hug.

"That's it. Get it out. It's okay. You need to let it out so you can get past it."

"I want him back," Blair moaned miserably, sobs wracking his body and he clung to Starsky's good shoulder.

"I know, kiddo. I know." Starsky sighed, regretting the motion slightly as his still-healing body protested it. "We're going to get him back. Plus, I wouldn't discount Ellison. With his police experience, his Covert Ops background...he's a pretty shrewd guy. He's a survivor."

"He's not immortal."

"None of us are, unfortunately. But he stands a better chance than most of defending himself, maybe escaping."

"Last night..." Blair let the words dangle there, trailing off into more tears.

"Your feelings are kind of mixed up and all over the place right now anyway, huh? First you have a father pop up out of the blue and then you're trying to deal with a whole new relationship and way of living your life. I remember being where you are now. If somebody had ripped Hutch away from me the next day, I'd'a gone nuts."

"It's my fault."

"What is?" Starsky pulled back, truly puzzled at what Blair could find in all this to blame himself for.

"He went...to the store to get...champagne...he was going to surprise me."

"Did you ask him to go get it?"

"No."

"Then there's no way in hell you can twist it to being your fault. Anymore than it was his because he tried to plan a surprise for you. It's the fault of the psycho who grabbed him. Nobody else."

"It was so...embarrassing...Jim's friends coming in and looking around up here. I never even thought about that when I called Simon. I was so freaked out from seeing Jennifer."

"Anybody giving you any trouble?"

"No. Simon seemed a little cooler, but he's trying, I think. Rafe...brought me this." Blair pulled his treasured card out from under the pillow, but didn't hand it over. Instead, his ran a finger over his name where Jim had written it. "This and a single red rose were on the ground near the truck. Rafe figured it was personal and brought it in for me. It was."

"Nothing important to the case?"

"No. Just some...personal things Jim said to me. It hadn't been opened when Rafe brought it in, so I don't think anybody but me read it."

"Good. Then you know you've got a couple of friends, anyway."

"I don't care about it for myself. You can get away with being a gay academic. Being a gay cop..." Blair shrugged.

"We were never officially 'out', but everyone knew. We haven't been stoned yet. Jim'll be okay. He'll have some problems, but he'll do fine. So will you."

"I'm glad you came over tonight."

"Almost dawn now. A new day to get to work on tracking this nutcase. You going to be up to the job?" Starsky asked, smiling.

"I feel a lot better now. If this is what having a dad is like, I'm all for the concept." Blair returned the smile, wiping at his face with his hand. "My head feels like a cantaloupe, but other than that..."

"Blow your nose and put some fresh clothes on, melonhead." He patted Blair's leg as he rose. "We've got work to do."

* * *

"Here you go, junior." Starsky plunked a huge stack of files and assorted grade books which looked all too familiar to Blair as he sat at the table in Simon's office.

"I wrote these stupid things. What do you want me to go through them all again for? They were a dead end."

"I want you to go through every damn name in there. I don't care how trivial it seems. And if you can't remember them, then I want you to make a list of the ones you can't remember and then go to the University and look at photo ID's of the ones on the list."

"We don't need to worry about looking for Jim at this rate. He'll die of old age before I finish this." Blair pulled out the first grade book with a sigh. "Is this busy work to keep me off your back while you work the case? Be honest. Jim doesn't treat me that way and I don't want to start the pattern now."

"We never laid eyes on any of these people, Blair," Hutch spoke up from his seat at the end of the table, where he was sifting through Jim's case files himself, not leaving anything to computerized chance. "If you had a bad relationship with one of these kids, or they were unbalanced in some way, or had connections--like to Mantego, for instance--you might recall that from dealing with them."

"Okay. The University has all the photo ID's on computer, so I can go torment Judy in the Registrar's office this afternoon." Blair donned his glasses and pored over the first grade book, only writing down five names out of forty.

"You remember the rest of those kids?" Starsky asked, looking up from the file he was reading with Hutch.

"I'm an anthropologist. Studying people is my life. Sure I remember them. Three of the people I wrote down, I didn't get along with very well, and the other two I don't remember at all, which probably just means they were no-shows most of the time, or didn't participate. They both got D's."

The three men spent most of the morning sifting through paperwork before Blair froze in the middle of a grade book.

"What?" Hutch noticed the pause in movement.

"I don't know how I could have overlooked her before. Or not remembered. I guess I was hunting for 'F' grades last time I went through here. She got a 'B'."

"Who is she?" Hutch persisted.

"Irene Palmer. She was one serious head case. She had some problems with the class at first, and I tutored her a few times. She got, like, totally obsessed with me. She was calling all the time, leaving gifts in my office--she even _washed my car_ while I was in class."

"Sounds like a textbook stalker," Starsky commented.

"Oh, yeah. And she was _weird_. I kept expecting her to announce that if she couldn't have me, no one could and carve me up with a meat cleaver or something. She finally dropped out of Rainier. I don't know what happened to her after that."

"How'd you get her off your back?" Hutch asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, she came in after classes were over for Christmas break, and she said that now that I wasn't her teacher anymore, we could be together. I told her that had no bearing on anything. That I wasn't interested. I had fallen back on the teacher-student argument to hold her at arm's length all semester. I said I wasn't interested in her that way right up front, but when she kept after me, I told her I could lose my fellowship if started dating my students--that it wasn't ethical. So she at least backed off hanging around my office and following me. She just kept sending me gifts. I swear to God I spent about $100 in postage sending them _back_ to her. I cleared everything through Dr. Buckner so I had a witness to how I was handling it in case she sued me or something. Dr. Buckner was my advisor and at the time, he was the department chair."

"Can we get a hold of Buckner?" Hutch asked.

"He's dead. He was murdered a little over a year ago."

"Any connection, do you think?" Starsky asked.

"No, we know who killed him. It had nothing to do with this case or Irene. Anyhow, the University wouldn't pay for any of it, obviously, but at least he knew I was sending all the stuff back. He kept the post office receipts in his files for me. I still have copies somewhere."

"Good paper trail," Starsky said, nodding. "So what happened with Irene, finally?"

"I really lit into her. I was so pissed off to see her show up again after the semester was over that I let her have it both barrels. I had tried to respect her feelings, to be gentle with her before--I didn't want to hurt her. The last time we talked, I didn't care. I told her that it didn't matter what our situation was, whether I was her instructor or not, that I was totally _not_ interested in her, and if she called me or came by the office again for any reason that wasn't directly related to a class she was taking, I'd call the cops. She rattled on and started crying and saying 'how can you do this when you know how much I love you', and I felt really badly because I knew she was a little unbalanced--to put it kindly. But I didn't have much choice. Either enter a relationship with her or tell her off in terms she'd understand. She finally apologized for bugging me so much, and then swung back to begging me for another chance--if I would just let her prove it, she'd show me how good we could be together." Blair rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I said 'no'." 

"What happened then?" Hutch prodded.

"It was weird. It was like something inside her just...shut down. She stopped arguing, and she just stared at me for a minute, and then she left. Just like that. I never saw or heard from her again. I understand she dropped the Winter semester classes she'd signed up for, and then left Rainier."

"She's definitely a possible. Irene Palmer?" Starsky clarified.

"Yeah, but you don't think a woman could pull this off, do you? I mean, she was a small girl. She couldn't take Jim on."

"She couldn't, but hired muscle could. Did you get the impression she was affluent?" Hutch asked.

"Sort of. I mean, it's not always easy to tell with students. She had a real thing for Victorian-era stuff. Her hair was long, and always swept up real dramatically, and she wore antique jewelry, and blouses with brooches at the neck. Truthfully, Irene was very pretty. That had nothing to do with it. It was her obsessive behavior that freaked me out and turned me off."

"You all right, buddy?" Hutch asked his partner, who was sitting there with an odd look on his face.

"I think I'm just tired."

"I think you should see the doctor. A gunshot wound isn't the hiccups."

"I'm going in to see him this afternoon, remember?"

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I can take a rest in the chief's office for an hour or so. He's still out of town. Where's Banks this morning, anyway?" Starsky asked, frowning.

"His son, Daryl, was supposed to address a community group that just granted him a scholarship for college next year. He said he'd be gone a couple hours for that," Blair responded.

"I'm going to walk upstairs with Starsk. Blair, see if you can run Irene Palmer through the computer. While you're at it, get one of your detective buddies to request a warrant from the Rainier Registrar's office to have a look through Irene's records."

"Will do." Blair hurried out to Jim's desk to start on his assignments.

* * *

Jim rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the headache he'd earned himself by spending the entire night and most of the morning trying to make an auditory map of his surroundings. The old man hadn't lied about the dogs. He'd heard them. The guards were there too. He had heard more than he cared to from one pair about their wives, and the others about their sexual exploits. He had picked up the latest Jags scores, too.

There were no hidden passages in the walls or the closets, though there was an access to the attic through the closet ceiling. But getting up to the attic wouldn't accomplish a hell of a lot if he couldn't get across the grounds without becoming a human Milk Bone. Mantego didn't appear inclined to feed him, so he couldn't stock up on food to ply the dogs. His hope was to hear when the dogs were either fed or when they rested. There had to be an opening...a chink in the armor somewhere. //Certainly isn't the fucking bricked up windows.// Jim sighed and sat on the foot of the bed. He wasn't sure what time it was, since he couldn't see outdoors. His watch was gone, along with the rest of his belongings.// 

It wasn't until now that he'd let himself pause to think about Blair. The last time he'd seen his lover, the other man had been sleeping peacefully, his face still a little flushed from their lovemaking. Jim smiled when he thought of how he'd planned on waking Blair, running the soft petals of the rose over the silky skin of his shoulder and side and hip until he moved--or laughed from the ticklish sensation. He'd planned to hold Blair and kiss him, say all the little love words he deserved to hear after what they'd shared the night before. 

//You're smarter than this, Ellison. If you can't figure a way out of this one, you're ready for the old folks' home.//

Jim got up and started pacing again. He scanned the interior of the house, tuning his hearing into every tiny noise. There was still someone in the house, but he could only locate one heartbeat, and it was at a fair distance. Unable to tolerate sitting and staring at the ornate Victorian room, he went into the closet and set about the project of opening the attic access as quietly as possible.

There was no drop down ladder or stairs, but once he had a hold on the edge of the opening, he thrust himself upward, using a hope chest for a boost, and his own considerable upper body strength to do the rest. He carefully slid the wood panel back into place, and let out an audible sigh of relief to finally see a little daylight. //Daylight escapes aren't perfect, but maybe they feed the damn dogs or let them take naps during the daylight hours.

About to head for the door of the attic room, he paused when he noticed a long object covered by a tarp. Curiosity piqued, he moved stealthily toward it and pulled back the cloth. An ornate, highly polished mahogany casket greeted him. Puzzled, and a bit chilled at the same time, he tossed the tarp back in place and slithered to the door of the room. Cracking it carefully, he decided to venture down the narrow stairs to the hallway he could see at the bottom.

The hall was as quiet and empty as the attic had been. He scanned the house, listening for any signs of life. The owner of the heartbeat was sleeping. Finding that peculiar, Jim continued his movements toward the main staircase. He froze when he heard the sound of the heartbeat get louder. He was coming closer now, and approached each doorway that opened off the hall with new trepidation. 

Finally, he found himself looking into what was the library of a very large, well-appointed home. The elder Mantego slept in a leather wingback chair near the fireplace, newspaper crumpled under his hands where they had landed as he dozed. The .45 was on the small end table next to him.

Jim looked around the hallway again, and again scanned the area with his hearing. The two men were alone in the house. There were guards out front, but no one else inside. He made a few tentative steps toward the sleeping man, keeping constant track of his heartbeat and breathing patterns. Suspending his own breathing, he got his fingers curled around the cool metal of the gun and lifted it off the smooth wood of the table. 

Just as he was about to retreat with it, he heard the man's whole pattern of breathing change, his heartbeat increase--he was coming around. Only sure of one thing--keeping hold of the gun, Jim started to back away from the table. A somewhat wrinkled but very strong hand clamped over his. 

"Nice try," the old man snapped. Jim didn't relinquish the weapon. It was now or never. He wrested his arm out of the man's grip, but his elderly opponent wasn't wise enough to concede this part of the battle to his captive. He grabbed for the gun, both of his hands clutching at Jim's hand as he did his best to hold onto it, wrestling for control with the older man. 

A single shot decided the fight.

Jim moved back as the old man's body fell, bleeding, at his feet. 

"Oh, shit," Jim had time to mutter before the door downstairs crashed open and there was movement on the stairs. Bursting through the doorway of the library, he surprised the first guard with a few well-placed moves that left him sprawled on the rich burgundy carpeting. His back-up, however, stood pointing a gun directly at Jim's head as he crouched on the floor near the fallen man.

"Drop the gun. Right now," the man ordered. He was comparable to Jim in size and height, his dark hair slicked back from his weathered face. "Don't fuck with me, Ellison. You just shot Mantego's old man. I put a bullet in your head and get a promotion."

Jim tossed the gun on the carpeting. Things had turned out in the worst possible way he could have imagined.

* * *

Blair stared at the computer screen, slightly dumbfounded. Irene Palmer was in the Cascade P.D.'s database...as a suicide. His hand came up to his mouth involuntarily as he read the account, in all its cold precision. She had hung herself. With a slightly shaking hand, he dialed records and asked if there was a case file on her he could take a look at and if there was any further information there than in the database. Learning that there was, he headed down to records in a bit of a stupor. Was he the cause of the young woman's suicide? 

"Blair, we have a lead on the casket," Rafe said, falling into step with Blair in the hallway. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Huh? Oh...yeah..."

"What's up?"

"What did you find out about the casket?" Blair stopped in the hall, turning his attention to the other man.

"Well, guess what Rudy Mantego's old man just invested in a few months ago?"

"What?"

"The Willow Ridge Funeral Home."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. He's the senior partner, but pretty much a silent partner, from what I understand. But get this--when I went to see them and showed them the photo, the funeral director said he had one just like it in stock and took me to the showroom. No casket. The one he thought was just like the one in the photo that he had in stock was gone. He has no sales record on it. He was totally baffled."

"Oh man. Then we've got a link to Mantego."

"Well," Rafe made a face, "of sorts. It's nothing concrete. The guy could be a lousy record keeper, or the casket was stolen, or it's in another part of the building. There are uniforms there now going through the big storage area out back to see if it was placed there for some reason. He thinks he's had a casket stolen."

"I was on my way to records, to look up a former student. She committed suicide."

"Geez, that's ugly. What happened?" The two men resumed walking, and Blair explained what had led him to look up the girl's name. When they reached records, the file clerk, whom Blair knew quite well, happily located it for him.

"Looks like pretty standard stuff." Blair skimmed the coroner's report. "Here it is. Catch her father's name."

"Dominic Mantego! Says here she was living with him. Here's an address."

"Simon!" Blair spotted the captain just walking back through the double doors into the hallway. "We've got a lead!"

* * *

Jim tugged at the ropes. Nice and tight, solid, and just taut enough to keep every muscle on full alert. This was a definite step down from lounging on an antique bed. The ropes that bound his wrists were suspended from a thick pipe in the ceiling of the basement, which was surprisingly high. High enough that Jim found himself mostly on his tiptoes, trying to relieve the pressure of essentially hanging by his wrists. The way his arms were spread, there wasn't much way to pull himself upward. He'd assessed every possibility for getting his hands upon the pipe and getting the ropes undone, but there was no way to accomplish it. His bound ankles would afford him the ability to give one or two good kicks by putting his weight on his wrists, but as securely bound as he was, that wouldn't accomplish anything. Still, he held the idea in reserve in case it was needed.

He tried for a deep breath and found it increasingly difficult the way his arms were stretched. He was suddenly acutely aware of one of the principle elements of crucifixion as a method of execution--after a time, the position would hamper the victim's breathing sufficiently to kill him. He idly wondered how many other men had met similar fates in this very manner. And he wondered what would finally kill him, and prayed that Blair wouldn't be on the scene to find the body.

The door to the large, empty, gray room he was in opened, and Rudy Mantego walked through it, followed by two of the house's four guards. One still sported the bruises from his unsuccessful encounter with Jim in the upstairs hallway.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Detective Ellison," Mantego smiled, resting his hands on the hips of his obviously expensive grey suit pants. The suit he wore had to be pure silk, the white shirt, pristine and perfectly tailored. Rudy Mantego was a bit younger than Jim, with a thick mop of black hair and a well-trimmed mustache. His dark good looks, coupled with his considerable wealth, made him very popular, and as arrogant as one would expect. "You should have dealt with my father. He really didn't have much of a plan, and what he did have didn't involve doing anything more than putting a bullet in your head when he was done with you. I, on the other hand, like to get a little more entertainment for my efforts."

"Is he dead?" Jim asked.

"Yes. Congratulations. You managed to kill an elderly man in his own library."

"An elderly man with a .45 who planned to kill me. The gun went off accidentally. I had no intention--or desire--to kill your father."

"Well, I'm not too surprised. I told my father to leave phase two of this project to me, but he had other plans. He wanted to do it himself. See, your little friend the professor destroyed my sister's life, and when she died, everything that was vital and alive in my father went with her. She was his little princess."

"Look, I don't know what happened with Sandburg and your sister, but killing a cop isn't going to solve anything."

"You're right. It isn't. That's what I kept trying to tell my father. Not that I have any problems with killing a cop if that's what's necessary, but it does bring a lot of heat down on your head that you can generally do without. But making Sandburg pay for killing Irene was worth any price to him. And it became very apparent that slapping the little hippie around wouldn't be nearly as effective as hitting him where it really hurt."

"So your father orchestrated the whole operation of Blair's kidnapping?"

"Yes." Mantego crossed his arms over his chest, moving closer to Jim as the goons stayed near the door. "But he was a slave to his taste for the dramatic. I said, let me send Slater and a couple of his pals out to do away with the little shit. I thought he should use Slater because, as you know, the man was _very_ creative. He'd chop up his own mother for the right price. Hell, maybe he _did_ chop up his own mother... Anyway, I figured that would take care of the little problem, and my dad could even have a selected body part dried and stuffed for a souvenir. But no, he had to do something elaborate and symbolic. He wanted Sandburg to die slowly, preferably of suffocation. But first he wanted him to waste away, like he thought Irene had. It had a certain...poetic justice to it. But it wasn't efficient, and ultimately there was too much risk for just what happened, to happen. If he'd left it to me, the job would have been done right the first time."

"You don't exactly seem broken up about your father's death."

"You want me to grieve? Put on a show? I suppose I could have stormed in here and had my thugs beat your brains in while I shouted reprimands at you for killing my father." Mantego shook his head. "No, grief is a private matter, and it will be dealt with in a dignified manner. Justice...an eye for an eye, so to speak, now that's a whole different matter, my friend. You and I, along with Rick and R.J. here, are going to spend a little time together. If you're wondering how you're going to ultimately die, well, telling you that would ruin the suspense."

* * *

"It's times like these I wish I had Jim's senses," Blair said to Simon as he rode with him in the passenger seat of the captain's car. Starsky and Hutch brought up the rear in an unmarked sedan, with back-up units standing by a few blocks up the street.

"Being able to send you in to listen for his heartbeat would be a real advantage right now. But if he's there, we'll find him. I plan on ripping the place apart from basement to attic."

"I'm just glad you talked Judge Whitfield into issuing the warrant based on the missing casket and the connection to Irene Palmer. I didn't think she'd go for it."

"It could be questioned in court later, but we're talking about a cop's life here. That changes the stakes a little."

Simon pulled into the circular drive in front of the rambling white Victorian-style house, with the other detectives pulling in behind them. Banks and Sandburg approached the door first, with Starsky and Hutch catching up with them before they rang the bell. After what seemed like an eternity to Blair, a tall, muscular man in a black t-shirt and jeans opened the door. 

"Cascade Police. We have a warrant to search the premises," Simon announced, flashing his ID and a copy of the search warrant. 

The other man stared for a split second, and then attempted to close the door. Simon put a sufficient force against it to open it, stumbling in as the other man gave up and started running toward the back of the house. Simon drew his weapon and yelled at the other man to freeze. The fleeing man spun around and as he raised his gun to fire, Blair felt a hand on the back of his collar yank him out of the line of fire against the front of the house. 

Two shots rang out from the interior of the house as Hutch rushed inside behind Simon.

"You stay put," Starsky ordered Blair, following his partner, gun drawn in his one good hand. Back-up units were swarming on the property now, barreling up on the well-manicured lawn, cops spilling out and surrounding the house. 

Never one to follow orders, Blair poked his head around the front door and saw Simon checking the fallen man's pulse quickly. 

"He's dead. All right, everybody, spread out. I want this place surrounded." Simon started barking out directions to each man who crossed the threshold, sending him in a different direction through the elaborate mansion. In the confusion, Blair darted inside and nimbly wove his way through the dispersing cops. 

Following an instinct that had no reason, he rushed to the kitchen, almost running into Megan and Rafe as they headed for the basement door.

"Whoa! Hold it right there, Sandy," Megan admonished, grabbing a hold of the sleeve of Blair's coat.

"Jim's down there," he stated simply, wresting his arm out of her control. 

"How do you know that?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I just _know_!" he protested, making another run for the door. This time, Rafe got a good grip on his arm and hauled him back.

"Fine. Then let us go first. You stay behind us, and be ready to get down. Understood?"

"Whatever. Just go!" Blair demanded, practically vibrating where he stood.

The two detectives headed down the narrow stairs, weapons drawn. Blair was close behind them. They fanned out in different directions at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the area with eyes and weapons until both their stances relaxed marginally.

"Damn," Megan muttered. Before either of them could move, Blair pushed his way past them and spotted Jim, still hanging by his wrists, his head lolling to one side. There were splotches of moisture soaking through various spots on the gray sweats he wore.

"Jim!" Blair flew to his partner without regard for anything that may or may not have been lurking in the shadows. "Help me!" he yelled back at Megan and Rafe. He turned back to Jim, wrapping his arms around his lover's lower body and hoisting, attempting to take the pressure off wrists that oozed blood from beneath the ropes that contrasted with hands that were a strange bluish color from total lack of circulation.

Rafe located a step ladder leaned against the wall and rushed over with it, climbing up and using a pocketknife to saw through the first of the two ropes. Megan was close by to help Blair catch Jim's weight, but surprisingly, he barely flinched when one of the large arms came down over his shoulder. Rafe sliced the second rope as quickly as he could, and Megan did help Blair withstand the drop of Jim's full dead weight on their shoulders. Lowering him gently to the floor, Megan untied the rope around his ankles while Blair cradled his unconscious lover against his chest. 

"I'm here, Jim. It's okay, buddy. I'm here. It's over," he murmured. Then in a voice so low only Jim's ears would ever pick it up, he added, "I love you."

More shots rang out from one of the upper floors of the house. Rafe, who had radioed for an ambulance and notified Simon that they had found Jim unconscious but alive, fled up the stairs, weapon drawn. By unspoken agreement, Megan stayed near Jim and Blair, checking her own weapon and making a brief walking tour of the basement. Soon she picked up her own radio and contacted Simon.

"There's another staircase down here, so they must have used that one. Looks like it might be a back route up to the upper floors. I'll check it out as soon as you can spare someone else for the basement." 

"Blair," the hoarse voice was nothing more than an expelled breath, but it brought a smile to Blair's face as he saw Jim's eyes struggle to open.

"Everything's okay now, love. I've got you," Blair said quietly, stroking Jim's face gently before turning his attention to massaging some circulation back into the clammy, bluish hands.. 

"Mante...Mantego..."

"Rudy or the old man?"

"Ru...the old man...shot him..."

"The old man shot Rudy?"

"No...I...shot...Dominic... Accident."

"But Rudy's the one who did this to you?"

"Mostly," Jim managed, letting his eyes drift shut again and seeking the support of Blair's shoulder.

"What happened to you, Jim?" Blair asked softly, still stroking Jim's hair.

"Don't worry. I'm just...winded. Cattle prod."

"Bastards," Blair muttered, holding Jim close and unconsciously starting a slight rocking motion. "That's it, just rest. We'll be out of here soon."

"Home."

"Soon, lover, soon," Blair whispered, kissing Jim's forehead and not really caring if Megan saw it or not. He felt the sting of his own hot tears welling up at the relief of having Jim in his arms. 

* * *

There were cops in every part of the Mantego mansion, but somehow, they hadn't managed to corral Rudy yet. Starsky felt the drain of the long day and all the commotion on his tired body as he paced at the foot of the ornate staircase. Hutch was busily directing medical personnel toward the kitchen with directions to go down the basement to collect Jim. 

When it happened, it all happened so fast that no one could be exactly positive of the chain of events. There was movement at the head of the stairs, and drawing his weapon, Starsky began to turn, raising his arm in a gesture that would have been seconds too late to save his life. As he was aiming his weapon, three shots rang out, slicing through the sounds and commotion going on around them.

A few of the uniformed officers stood gaping at the fallen man on the stairs. Just as Starsky had paced over to stand at the foot of the long staircase, Mantego had appeared at the head of the it and aimed directly at him. Before he could squeeze the trigger, he'd been dropped by the three shots that hit only inches apart in his upper chest. With the exception of Jim Ellison, very few of them had seen a cop shoot with that kind of speed, confidence and precision. 

Hutchinson holstered his weapon and moved toward the stairs, where his partner had already moved Mantego's weapon away from the man's hand and was checking his pulse, which had stopped. 

"Nice shooting, buddy," Starsky said to his partner. "Now we just have to work on your dart game," he concluded, smiling a little. Glad for the tension breaker, Hutch chortled under his breath.

* * *

The thought of home loomed like nirvana as Jim scanned his overcrowded hospital room with tired eyes. Somehow, just because he wasn't in ICU, the entire Major Crimes division seemed intent on visiting, preferably all at the same time, most of them committed to re-enacting every moment of the raid on Mantego's house that he missed.

"So Mantego must have taken those backstairs up to the second floor. He and a couple of his goons came out through a hidden door in the back of the closet in the master bedroom." Simon smiled and shook his head. "I don't know what he was thinking, trying to make it downstairs."

"Probably a last ditch effort, or the intention of going out in a blaze of glory, and not in a squad car," Blair opined. He was perched on the side of Jim's bed, barely resisting the urge to crawl into it with his lover. Somewhere along the line, Jim had taken a hold of Blair's hand, and wasn't letting go.

"It's still hard to believe his father master minded the whole operation with Slater," Megan commented, shaking her head. "All of that for revenge. I still find it unthinkable that he advocated the murders of innocent people just to _scare_ Sandy."

"Sandy?" Starsky parroted.

"Don't you start," Blair snapped back at his father, who just chuckled a little evilly.

"Apparently, Dominic went off the deep end after Irene committed suicide. He became obsessed with revenge fantasies, according to one of the goons we hauled in. Rudy apparently suggested Slater, and helped spring him from the looney bin, figuring that he would deal with Blair in a manner that would suit the old man," Simon explained. "But like always, Slater had his own agenda."

"Slater was a killing machine. During one of his interviews at Cabrillo State, his doctor asked him what his favorite pastime was as a child. He responded 'killing things'. Then he laughed. But the thing was, when you heard that laugh, you knew it was insanity. He wasn't joking." Hutch shuddered almost visibly. "He was pure evil. The worst kind of psycho. Using him for a 'job' would always be an ill-advised choice. He'd go off on a tangent, just like he did here."

"But that's not all bad, because it threw us all of for quite a while," Starsky added. "See, we all were hunting Slater, and when the bodies kept piling up, it made it less and less likely that it was something exclusive to Blair. It started to look like Slater was just up to his old tricks, and was toying with his latest victim. When he was confronted with the cops at the University, and he told you he had a message for you," he directed at Jim, "that was probably going to be when he said something about Irene--when he got old man Mantego's point across about his daughter. Which is why I was so upset when he was shot. I had a gut feeling we were _this close_ to hearing what the origin of all of it was."

"This must be the new Cascade Police sub-station," the doctor joked as she entered the room, Jim's chart in hand. 

"Is that our cue to hit the road, doc?" Starsky asked from his perch against a windowsill.

"No," the middle-aged woman reassured, smiling. "It's _his_ cue to hit the road," she said, pointing at Jim. "Your blood pressure is stabilized, your last EKG was normal, and the nurses have all promised to take me to dinner if I release you now."

"Come on, doc, I wasn't _that_ bad of a patient," Jim protested. After several disbelieving looks, he rolled his eyes. "I asked once or twice about getting out of here, but..."

"I want you to get plenty of rest for a couple of days, and if you have any unusual symptoms, either get in touch with your family doctor or come to the emergency room. I would recommend a follow-up doctor visit in a week or so, just to double check. Your system took quite a few jolts, and I want to be sure everything's back to normal."

"Thanks, doctor. I'll make sure he takes care of himself," Blair replied, thinking that dispensing with all their well-meaning friends would be his first order of business. 

"I think that's it. I just need you to sign this," she said, handing Jim a clipboard, waiting while he scrawled a signature on the form and handed it back to her. 

"Free at last," Jim sighed, smiling a little and very blatantly winking at Blair. "Simon, you said something earlier about having brought me some clothes?"

"We should all be going," Megan spoke up, moving toward the door. Most of the other cops followed until only Starsky and Hutch remained. Simon offered to wait out front and give them a lift home, then headed out to the parking lot to get his car.

"We're going to head back to the hotel. I'm going to shove this guy into bed for a few hours."

"Sex maniac," Starsky teased his partner.

"Prick," Hutch shot back.

"Smart ass," Starsky countered, heading for the door of the hospital room.

"Moron."

"Are you guys always this romantic?" Blair asked, laughing.

"This is sublimated foreplay. We can get away with it in public," Starsky retorted, taking a hold of Hutch's arm and pulling him toward the door. "Come on, blintz. Let's give these guys some privacy before they go nuts. We'll see ya tomorrow downtown. Report time," Starsky concluded.

"See you then. Get some rest," Jim advised.

"Take your own advice, hot shot," Starsky responded as the other two men left the room.

"Finally." Jim let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. 

"You feel up to going home?" Blair asked, concerned.

"Yup. Just a little winded." Jim pulled himself up wearily and with Blair unpacking the bag of clothes, started to get dressed.

* * *

"Next year, we do something really special for our anniversary," Starsky announced, picking a fat tomato off his salad and feeding it to Hutch as they sat on the bed, an overburdened room service tray between them. He grinned as Hutch made it a point to suck the fingertip provocatively. 

"I'm just relieved we got through this one alive," Hutch replied honestly, evaluating his partner's appearance. "You look tired, babe."

"I _feel_ tired. Between running around and living on painkillers, I think I could sleep for a month. I just had to see this through, y'know?"

"You've been taking more than the prescription calls for on the pain pills, huh?" Hutch took another drink of wine, glad to see that his partner was at least drinking water instead of alcohol.

"Yeah, well, whatever it takes. I'm gonna miss my kid, but I'm ready to head home and sleep off this whole fucking case."

"Tomorrow, you're going to the doctor. No excuses."

"It wasn't my fault the whole Mantego thing came together this afternoon."

"You think Sherman is a dead issue?" Hutch asked, yawning.

"Well, my guess is he skipped town. Now we know he wasn't the one masterminding the bit with putting Jennifer's body in the loft."

"I figure it was probably some of Mantego's muscle, under Dominic's direction," Hutch mused, picking up one of the shish kabobs and pulling a large piece of beef off the end.

"Probably."

"You think Ellison's all right? He took a pretty good torture session with Mantego."

"He was shaky and he's going to be real sore for a few days, but I think he'll be okay. Let's face it, getting repeated electric shocks to your body isn't good for a person, but I guess if he got through it this far without buying it, he's probably okay. Probably get a few muscle spasms that'll send him into orbit." Starsky sighed. "Did you see how Blair headed straight for the basement, no questions? Man, he slid through those cops like a little greased pig."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Not in the least." Starsky leaned forward and kissed his partner's lips. "I'm tellin' ya, babe. When I'm feelin' better..."

"Maybe we could borrow Dobey's fishing cabin for a weekend."

"If you're lookin' for the best way not to get any for a year, that would be it."

"Probably wouldn't work anyway. Dobey's there 95% of the time now anyway," Hutch responded, laughing. "Although I do still like to see you parading around in red long johns now and then."

"I can do that at the Ritz-Carlton, in the honeymoon suite."

"Is that a hint?"

"Yeah. It means that dinner at Huggy's Steak  & Ale isn't going to cut it this year."

"He just put all that money into remodeling the place, Starsk. All new booths, that big screen TV--"

"Hutch."

"And he always brings free champagne to the table for our anniversary."

"Hutch."

"There's a good dancefloor there," Hutch persisted, purposely pushing his partner's buttons with his conservative proposal for celebrating.

"You know, you can get one hell of a case of blue balls in a year's time, blondie," Starsky stated calmly, leaning back against his pillow, watching Hutch with a smug expression.

"Maybe I'll call information for that Ritz-Carlton number. Never too early to make your reservations." Hutch smiled sweetly.

Concluded in part ten.


	10. Chapter 10

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 10 parts

## Outside Influences

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from nine. 

* * *

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part ten  
by Candy Apple

Jim walked through the door of the loft, every muscle in his body protesting the fact that he was moving at all. He'd heard horror stories about electric shock torture, and was now convinced every one of them was an understatement. He knew as it was, he'd gotten off easily since all they'd been using was the cattle prod. If Mantego had been as well equipped as some sadists, he'd have had a generator handy to get some real voltage cranking through his captive. But if your captive dies in the middle of torture, that takes all the fun out of it. This way, Jim had been kept very conscious until the very end, aware of every jolt of pain throughout his body. Dialing it down took concentration, and several shocks into the experience, he didn't seem to have the ability to consciously dial anything anywhere.

He collapsed on the couch with a groan, and watched through slitted eyes as Blair locked the door behind them and made his way toward his lover. As much as Jim despised the thought of moving, and seriously questioned whether having another body pressed against him was going to feel all that great, he raised his arm along the back of the couch, motioning to Blair with a couple fingers to come to him. The other man was there in a heartbeat, gently cuddling against Jim, head on his shoulder.

"Simon told me what Dominic Mantego did with Jennifer's body."

"I feel so sorry for her parents," Blair said quietly. "They've been through so much, and then to think their daughter was finally being laid to rest and then something like this happens...shit, she's _evidence_ again."

"Simon said he would do his best to expedite the process this time out. It was pretty ridiculous that her body wasn't released for two weeks the first time. Then we give it to a phony undertaker...but technically, Mantego's old man was co-owner of Willow Ridge Funeral Home, so he could show up in an honest to God hearse with all the right paperwork to pick her up."

"How do you feel?"

"Like every muscle in my body hates me. My back is killing me, and I'm not even mentioning my arms." Jim let out a long breath. "I feel about 95 years old."

"Would a massage feel good?" Blair asked.

"I don't know. I feel like I have a tuning fork for a spine and somebody just banged on it." Jim could still feel his heart doing an occasional little flutter, but mentioning that to the doctor would have kept him in the hospital overnight. With the possible exception of being re-hung in Mantego's basement, he couldn't come up with a much less pleasant thought.

"Maybe soaking in a hot bath would feel good."

"That's worth a shot," Jim responded, kissing Blair's forehead. "Lousy timing on this whole thing, huh?"

"None of that matters now. I'm just so glad you're okay." Blair took a shaky breath. "I wish I'd shot Mantego myself," Blair said, his voice quivering.

"You don't mean that, sweetheart."

"Yes I do. For what he did to you."

"Could have been worse."

"Not without killing you, it couldn't."

"People have been tortured with electric shock a lot worse than I was and lived. He wanted to get back at me for killing his old man. And that really _was_ an accident. We struggled for the gun and..." Jim sighed. "He was a sick old man. Losing his daughter drove him over the edge."

"Mantego was no sick old man. He was just sick, period." Blair ran his hand lightly over Jim's chest, then curled his arm around his lover. "Let me know if I hurt you."

"You won't, sweetheart." Jim made the effort of squeezing Blair closer. "I wanted to love you awake, treat you right...after what we shared. That's the one thing I can't forgive old Dominic, robbing us of that."

"Jim?" There was a little pause. "Everybody knows. I mean, everybody. Simon, Rafe, Megan...and some uniformed guys."

"Knows what, baby?" Jim carded his fingers through Blair's hair, moving his head so his nose was close to it, inhaling the scent of Blair's shampoo and Blair himself.

"About us." 

The fingers stopped dead in their tracks. Blair's breathing paused with them. 

"How?"

"I was upset...I didn't think. I called for help--I called Simon, after I found Jennifer's body. I was wearing my robe, because I'd just come downstairs to look for you. But the bedroom was still all messed up, clothes everywhere..."

"And I had a load of champagne and strawberries with me, not to mention the card and the rose." Jim stared up at the ceiling and let out a long breath.

"I'm _so_ sorry. I never would have said anything to anybody. But I lost it when I found Jenny's body, and I was freaked out, and I called for help. It didn't occur to me until the cops got here that I had screwed up royally." Blair paused. "Rafe gave me the rose and the card. He didn't put it in evidence."

"Good." Jim was lost in his own thoughts, and didn't even think there would be any double meaning in that seemingly innocent word. He was glad Blair had the card, and had been the only one to read what was private between them. He hadn't meant to make it sound as if he were relieved to have escaped the shame of someone reading how he felt about Blair. He wasn't delighted to have been outed involuntarily and in such a degrading manner--with his co-workers trudging through his sex-ravaged bedroom--but he didn't blame Blair for any of it. He was just too damned tired to explain his thought patterns.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I never meant for this to happen. For everybody to find out. I'm _so_ sorry." There was a long pause. "If it...if it would be easier...If you want me to...I could... I'll move out if you want."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jim snapped out of his stupor and pulled back to look at Blair, who was wiping at tears that were leaking out of his eyes.

"I know how humiliating this is for you. I'm _so_ sorry. I never wanted to ruin your life like this. It's all my fault. I should have cleaned things up before I called, and I forgot, and I know apologies are no good to you now when I messed everything up like that already, but--"

"Hey, hey, come on, Chief. Slow down." Jim caught the pained face in both hands. "You were in shock and you did exactly what you should have done--called the cops. Cleaning up the loft first would have lost valuable time and also disturbed evidence. You did the right thing, sweetheart." Jim leaned forward and kissed both damp eyelids. "I love you with all my heart, Blair. I didn't want us to have to work out our relationship with all eyes focused on us, but now that they are, we'll just have to work around it. But it's not your fault. And I'm not ashamed of you or of the fact that we made love. It's just that it was...private. I'm a very private person, Chief. Big surprise there, huh?" Jim asked, smiling as Blair chortled a little. "Don't beat yourself up for needing some help, or for being scared. I don't really want to think what Jennifer looked like after a couple weeks in the drawer. And she was a friend." Jim's gentle tone and the loving caress on the side of Blair's face prompted a few more tears.

"I can't get that picture out of my head."

"I know."

"Not Jennifer. The picture. The one I got in the mail." Blair watched as Jim frowned. "You didn't know about that one?"

"Simon didn't mention it, no."

"Me and my big mouth." Blair slumped against Jim's shoulder again, snuggling close.

"What was it?"

"It was an 8x10 of...of you...dressed up in a suit...and...and you were in...in a casket. It looked like you'd look if..." Blair shuddered and tightened his hold on Jim. "I can't say it."

"You don't have to, baby. I know what I'd feel like looking at something like that of you. I hope the old fucker's burning in hell." He rubbed Blair's back in slow strokes. "Damn him. I found the casket. In the attic. I got out of the room I was locked in by climbing into the attic through the closet. It was under a tarp in there. The doctor said I had some traces of a heavy sedative in my system even now, so I must have been zonked on drugs." Jim shook his head. "So that's what he meant about mahogany looking good on me."

"How did they get to you outside without you hearing them?"

"Nobody's infallible, Chief." Jim hoped Blair wouldn't press him on this point, but of course, he did.

"But you would hear anyone coming up behind you."

"I was thinking about something else."

"Jim."

"I was focused on you, okay? I wanted to know if you were still sleeping, and you were when I got back to the parking lot. So I was standing there like a lovesick sap with my rose listening to you snort in your sleep. But that doesn't make it your fault. It makes it mine for being an idiot."

"You're not an idiot."

"Believe me, when I came to in that frilly bedroom, I seriously questioned it."

"I always thought that it would be me who got hurt because of one of your cases, or someone out to get you. I never thought you'd be hurt because of me."

"Irene was a sick girl, sick and obsessed. A stalker. You handled it the best way you could. If she hadn't killed herself when she did, she'd have probably done it later, when something else didn't go her way." Jim sighed heavily. "You said something about a hot bath?"

"I'll go get it ready."

"Only if you join me." Jim smiled at Blair's surprised expression. "I couldn't get it up if you danced naked on the kitchen table for me. I just want us to be close. Sound good?"

"Sounds like heaven," Blair said quietly, kissing Jim's mouth lightly and heading into the bathroom to start the water.

By the time Jim hauled himself off the couch with a loud groan and made his way slowly back to the bathroom, Blair had a warm tub of water waiting for him. The younger man wordlessly worked at unbuttoning Jim's shirt and dispensing with it, carefully pulling the t-shirt out of Jim's jeans and easing it over Jim's head as he forced protesting muscles in his arms and shoulders to cooperate.

"Do they hurt much?" Blair asked softly, running remarkably gentle fingers close to one of several reddened areas of skin that were contact burns from the cattle prod.

"Luckily I had a layer of clothing between me and the prod. Could have been a lot worse. I don't think these'll even scar."

"That wasn't what I asked," Blair responded, leaning forward and planting a feather-light kiss on the red splotch near Jim's navel. "I know you couldn't have dialed things down for long." Blair obviously hadn't accepted Jim's dismissal of his suffering with the simple statement that he'd "dialed it down". He knew Jim and his sensory abilities too well to accept it.

"I lost the ability to concentrate on a hell of a lot at a point, and the pain got pretty unbearable. I passed out because my senses were overloaded on it. It's like I still feel it...reverberating in my insides."

"Relax and let me take care of you, lover," Blair said softly, caressing Jim's cheek. "We can work on dialing it down now that you can think straight. Get you relaxed to sleep. Hopefully get rid of the last of those palpitations you're having." Jim leaned into Blair's hand and closed his eyes. He could feel the worst of the tension draining out of his agonized muscles just by placing himself in Blair's capable hands. That Blair had even known Jim still felt unsettled in his chest made him trust his lover that much more to know how to make things right again.

Once Jim was undressed, Blair stripped quickly and got into the tub first, guiding Jim to get in next and lean back against him. After sliding down a bit so the back of his head rested comfortably on Blair's shoulder, Jim closed his eyes and let Blair take over. The warm water was easing the cramping of his muscles, and Blair's soothing voice and gentle caresses with the warm, soapy sponge he held lulled Jim nearly to sleep.

"It's time to focus on the dial, my heart," Blair said in a bare whisper, just enough of a voice that Jim could discern it.

"My heart?" he repeated quietly.

"My heart, my soul, my reason for living," Blair responded, kissing Jim's temple. "My everything." Blair's smile came through in his voice. "Picture the dial now. It's too high. All you have to do is reach over and turn it slowly down. Slowly. Just take a hold of the knob and turn down the pain. You're in control," Blair said, keeping his voice in a low monotone. He could feel the tense muscles in Jim's body relaxing in the warmth of the bath tub and the security of Blair's arms. "The pain doesn't have power anymore. You have the power. You just turn it down slowly."

"Feels better," Jim murmured, letting out a long breath. "It's working, Chief."

"Sure it is. You just needed to relax. Let's finish up your bath so we can get you to bed. I need to change the bandages on your wrists."

"Just when yours are all healed up," Jim said, holding one of Blair's hands to examine the wrist that only bore a couple of faint pink reminders of the damage from the handcuffs. Soon, even that would be gone as the new skin blended with its surroundings.

Blair did his work with bandaging Jim's wrists carefully but quickly, and the two men headed for the stairs, hand in hand. Jim tossed his robe aside and stepped into a pair of boxers while Blair turned back the bed, then located his own boxers for the night. Jim fell into the bed with a grunt, and let Blair cover him. Even that seemed like too much of an effort. 

Absently, he noticed that all the sheets were fresh and the bed had been neatly made. A part of him mourned losing the experience of waking up in the sweaty mess of soiled sheets with his equally sticky lover after their first time together.

Blair slid into his side of the bed and moved over close to Jim without touching him right away, giving the other man time to get comfortable. Jim reached over and took Blair's hand, lifting it off the bed where it was resting, kissing it and holding it against his face.

"Missed you," he said quietly, watching a little smile curve Blair's lips. 

"Missed you more," he countered, grinning now.

"Not possible," Jim retorted. He watched as Blair's face became serious again. 

"If somebody had cut out my heart, I wouldn't have missed it as much." Seeing the anguish just the memory was bringing to Blair's eyes, Jim made the effort to shift onto his side, and pulled his lover into his arms.

"I'm here now, Chief. And I'm not going anywhere without you anytime soon." He squeezed Blair tightly against him, using Blair's presence to shut out the memories of his ordeal with Mantego and his goons. "I love you."

"I love you too. Oh, God, Jim, I didn't even realize how much until I...I thought you were gone for good."

"How are you feeling, baby? I know it's late to ask you, but are you okay? Was everything okay after...?"

"I'm fine. I could feel it, but you took good care of me. I was okay. I just was so miserable to feel it fading because I didn't think we'd ever make love again, and when my body couldn't remember it anymore..." Blair took in a shaky breath and gave up on talking.

"I was gone when you needed me the most."

"You didn't have any control over that."

"I know. But that didn't make it easier for you."

"I wasn't tortured," Blair said quietly.

"Yes you were, sweetheart. Just not physically."

"I don't want to be the reason you get hurt...ever again. What if what we're starting here...if it finds some way to hurt you?"

"Losing you would kill me. I can stand being hurt a little if that's what it takes to keep us together. You're stuck with me, Chief. Until I croak. When I'm a senile old man, I'll still be chasing you around the loft with my walker."

"Shaking your fist at me because I left wet towels on the floor in the bathroom," Blair added, smiling now from his hiding place against Jim's chest.

"I was thinking more of the magic moment after I've just taken my viagra, and I feel like a horny teenager again." Jim smiled as Blair snorted inelegantly, laughing out loud at the concept of an elderly Jim, empowered by viagra, trying to chase his slightly less elderly partner around the couch.

"Who do you think will be reminding you when to take it?" Blair asked, still smiling, stretching up to kiss Jim quickly.

"No, Chief, I think you'll probably just have a pump installed next to the bed so we can both take a couple hits when things start sagging."

"Wonder if we could actually go through our golden years with blue-tinted vision 24 hours a day?"

"Gold is overrated. We'll just call them the 'blue years'." Jim bestowed one of his best smiles on Blair, who watched it like it was a miracle in progress.

"You have the most beautiful smile in the world," he said honestly, running his hand gently over Jim's face while he was still smiling. 

"You're biased."

"Nope. I've been all over the world. I should know. Yours is the best."

Jim caught Blair's hand and kissed it. 

"Saturday night, we're going out."

"We are?"

"We are. A date. We're going somewhere totally overpriced for dinner and order the best stuff on the menu, then we're going to do _something_...I don't know what yet. Is there anything cultural going on?"

"Uh, I think there's a concert at the U Saturday night--a string quartet from the music department. They're really very good."

"You can get tickets?"

"I have free ones in my backpack. They always give out some free ones to faculty and staff, and Dr. Miller didn't want his, so he gave them to me."

"Okay, we do dinner, then the concert...then...whatever." Jim smiled again, and kissed the end of Blair's nose. 

"Whatever? You're going to try to score, huh?"

"How're my chances?" Jim responded, wondering if he had ever loved Blair as much as he did at this moment in time.

"You have to tell me you love me first," Blair replied, grinning.

"That's easy. I'll love you for the rest of time, sweetheart."

"Me too," Blair responded, moving in close to Jim again, nestling in strong arms. "I think your chances are beyond good."

* * *

Jim struggled to get air into his lungs, trying to overcome the agonizing pull on the considerable system of muscles in his shoulders as his bound position stretched them to the limits of their endurance. A groan came from someone...it must have been him. There was something he was supposed to do...to remember...that would make this better, but his entire body was still vibrating and shuddering from the last jolt, hot wires of pain shooting through his muscles...and now it wasn't Mantego's goons anymore wielding the cattle prod, but a leering, whitish, bloodied Slater.

"Gonna make you pay, Ellison. You owe me. Time to pay up."

Jim jerked awake with a start, letting out a sigh of relief at the familiar surroundings of the bedroom. Flopping back on the bed, he smiled and rolled over to reach for Blair. He found his hand to be submerged in a puddle of blood as he stared into his lover's glassy, lifeless eyes.

* * *

Blair barely braced himself on the edge of the bed to stop from rolling off onto the floor. Jim had to have flung him away in his sleep, the larger man now sitting straight up, breathing like a jackhammer, sweating profusely and staring into the shadows of the bedroom wild-eyed. His entire body was trembling.

"Jim?" Blair whispered carefully. The other man's head whipped around to look at him. Even without enhanced senses, Blair could see Jim's eyes grow even wider at the sight of him. "Jim, hey, it's okay. It's just me."

"Bl...Blair?" he gasped, as if the pure shock of seeing Blair was enough to rob him of his capacity to speak.

"It's okay, love. It was a nightmare." Blair ventured a little closer, and took a hold of Jim's hand. The other man snatched his hand away and looked at it, palm and back. "Jim, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Blood..."

"Hang on, lover. I can't see as well as you can in here." Blair got up and turned on the lamp on the dresser. The pallor of Jim's skin took him by surprise in the light. He grabbed a spare blanket from the shelf in the closet and wrapped it around Jim's shoulders. His lover was very close to being in shock. "Jim, come on, look at me. _See_ me. Everything's okay. You're safe. There's no blood, see?" He sat on the edge of the bed, and took a hold of Jim's hands, turning them back and forth to illustrate his point.

"You...are you real?" Jim asked hesitantly.

"Of course I'm real," Blair replied gently, taking Jim's hand and raising it to his own face, holding it there. "Feel that? That's real."

"I woke up and you...oh, God, Blair..." Jim looked away, the fingers of the hand near Blair's face contracting to grip a few curls tightly.

"It's okay, Jim. It's over. It was just a dream." Blair moved up on his knees on the bed and pulled Jim against his chest, caressing the soft, sleep-rumpled hair. "Everything's okay. We're safe. We're together. It's all over." He found himself rocking a little and he spoke the soothing words.

"You were dead. I saw you," Jim managed before losing his battle against tears.

"It's okay, lover. Just let it out. I've got you. I'm very much alive and plan on staying that way for a good long time."

"I didn't...I couldn't remember how...to...to control it...and then it was Slater...and I thought it was all a dream...and I woke up, and then I rolled over...and you were...there was blood...and you..."

"Shhh. It's all over now. I know you're hurting and that probably is disturbing you while you're trying to sleep. Just think of Slater as nothing more than a really bad pulled muscle, huh?" Blair smiled as Jim chortled a little wetly against his chest. "Mantego was a Charlie horse--"

"More like a horse's ass," Jim responded shakily, still smiling a little.

"That's the spirit. It's okay for you to be shaken up a little here, man. You went through hell. Your poor body's just trying to assimilate all the horrible stimuli it's suffered in the last 24 hours. And given your sentinel abilities--I can't even begin to imagine what your brain and your whole nervous system is trying to sort out in terms of overstimulation of a very negative kind."

"God, Blair, when I thought you were dead...I _saw_ you dead. You don't understand. I _saw_ it. I looked right into your eyes..." Jim shuddered violently, and Blair held him tighter, pulling the blanket close around his armload.

"Jim, look into my eyes now. Come on, don't be afraid. Look right into my eyes." Blair waited as the other man finally complied. "See. Just like always."

"The most beautiful eyes in the world...even bloodshot," Jim quipped, reaching up to stroke Blair's cheek. Blair claimed Jim's mouth in a deep, prolonged kiss. 

"I'm alive, lover. And I plan to stay that way. Ready to lie back now?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't feel any better no matter where I go."

"How about you let _me_ hold _you_ for a change?" Blair climbed back into the bed, on his own side, and motioned to Jim to lie down with his head on the smaller man's shoulder. When Jim was settled, Blair brought a hand up to stroke Jim's hair. "How's that?"

"Feels good. Smells good too," Jim said, planting a little kiss on the flesh under his lips.

"You're not too shabby yourself," Blair replied, holding Jim close and planting a kiss on his forehead. "Go to sleep, lover. Let me watch over you for a change, huh? Let everything shut down and unwind." Blair paused a moment. Jim was relaxed, but still not sleeping. "If you can't sleep, and you want to talk, just start talking. If I don't answer, pinch me someplace fun."

"Love you," Jim muttered, his words already sounding a bit fuzzy with approaching sleep.

"Love you too."

* * *

Most of the next day was a blur of filling out forms and typing up reports. Ignoring his body's protests to everything he was putting it through, Jim drove through the day with a dogged determination, tying up all the loose ends of the multi-pronged Mantego/Slater case. IA would still do their perfunctory review of the shooting of Dominic Mantego, but Simon was confident that nothing more would come of that than an acknowledgment that it was an accidental shooting brought on in a struggle which was self-defense.

Starsky and Hutchinson only made the appearance necessary to complete their portion of the paperwork, and to work out the technicalities with the IA departments of their home PD and the Cascade PD relating to Hutch's shooting of Rudy Mantego. Again, the shooting had occurred under circumstances that made any other course of action ineffective. Starsky would have been shot by the suspect an instant later if Hutch hadn't acted as quickly and effectively as he did.

Despite the fact that Jim felt like something the cat not only dragged in, but pulled through several knotholes on the trip home, he suggested treating their guests to a final dinner out before their return to LA, which Hutch had wasted no time scheduling for the next day. While Starsky regretted missing out on spending more time with his son under less stressful circumstances, he knew only too well that he had pushed himself as far as he dared without going home for some real rest and follow up medical care for his gunshot wound.

By the time dinner rolled around, the guest list had swelled to include Simon, Rafe, Brown, Megan, Rhonda and Serena. Taking over a long table in the back of Tony's, the group ordered a plethora of Italian food and feasted happily. It was a much-needed break to share an evening with friends that didn't include talk of serial killers or drug lords. 

"Must have been quite a surprise finding out you had a son up here in Cascade," Simon said to Starsky, feeling comfortable to mention it since both Starsky and Blair had been very open about the whole situation from the start. 

"It was a big surprise finding out I had a son anywhere," Starsky responded, smiling. The rest of the group chortled a bit, including Blair. "But it was a good surprise. Never figured my kid would be a college professor," Starsky added, smiling at Blair with obvious pride.

"Not yet," Blair amended. "Still a lowly grad student, I'm afraid."

"Soon though," Starsky responded, not dissuaded.

"Hopefully."

"If we ever give him a day off to get anything done on his dissertation," Simon commented, digging back in to his spaghetti.

"So what's next for you two when you return to LA?" Megan asked Hutch, who had been quietly watching the conversation involving his partner.

"Some time off. The man of steel over here needs to recuperate for a while, even though he seems to think he can stop speeding bullets with his body and keep going. And we do have to finish the book, so I'm hoping we can get a brief leave of absence from the PD for that."

"You wouldn't object if we kept you in mind to consult on future cases?" Simon asked.

"Not at all," Starsky replied immediately. "Give me a great excuse to visit my kid."

"You don't need an excuse for that," Jim spoke up. "I know Blair would like it, and if we're not locking horns on a case, I could deal with it myself," he added, smiling slightly, then became a bit more serious. "While we have you all here, there's something I think you should be hearing directly from Blair and me. You probably already know anyway after the way things came together on this case, but if anybody has anything to say about it, good or bad, I think this is the right time for it, while we're among friends here." He paused for a breath. "Blair and I are together. I mean, _together_. We're not planning on posting a wedding announcement in the 'Cascade Herald' anytime soon, but we're life partners now as well as working partners." Jim picked up Blair's hand and laced their fingers. The younger man was staring at him, stunned into silence. "I know that's a concept that might not set well with some of our friends, and I'd just as soon throw all the cards on the table now and deal with it. It's probably inevitable that certain people are going to give us a bad time about this, and that's fine. It isn't going to change anything. But I want to know where our friends stand, and most of them who matter are at this table."

There was a long silence, while most of the guests looked from one to the other a bit nervously. 

"I think it's delightful," Megan spoke up, raising her wine glass. "I think we should all drink a toast to the happy couple," she said pleasantly, but assertively. Starsky and Hutch, of course, had glasses in the air immediately, and Rafe, Brown and Serena soon joined them. Simon was a bit more hesitant.

"Simon?" Blair prompted, watching the other man a bit nervously.

"On a personal level, I have no problem with any of this. I'm happy for you both. But you have to realize that I'm not exactly a representative of the entire Cascade PD, or the administration. I don't like to be a wet blanket, but my drinking to you as a couple here, among friends, is no guarantee I can smooth the path with the brass or your co-workers."

"I don't expect that you will," Jim responded. "I want to know if we have your _personal_ support." He watched as the captain picked up his wine glass and raised it to match the others.

"You always have that."

* * *

"It's been great meeting you both," Hutch said, as he shook hands with Jim and then Blair. "You'll come out to LA soon?"

"I, uh, wondered about...Thanksgiving," Blair shot out, immediately looking nervous, as if he feared having stepped over some boundary.

"That's a great idea," Starsky responded. "Hutch does a mean turkey. Even if he does make me shove the wet bread up its butt." Starsky grinned and the other men laughed. "I'll call you in a couple days, and we'll set it up, huh?"

"Sounds great." Blair paused, noticing that Jim and Hutch had gravitated toward the nearby window, discussing something about the planes that were visible from that vantage point. "I'm gonna miss having you around all the time."

"Same here, kiddo. Don't be a stranger. I want to hear from you once in a while." Starsky produced a card from the pocket of his jacket. "Okay, here you've got my work number and my e-mail address. On the back I wrote our home phone number, the cell phone number and the pager number. Now you've got no excuses."

"You'll call me sometimes too, right? I'll e-mail you all the numbers tonight. I totally forgot about you not having them already."

"Sounds good. You think you could get some time off over Hanukkah this year? I'd love to take you to New York to meet your grandmother."

"My grandmother? I didn't know I _had_ one." Blair smiled happily.

"Oh, you've got one all right. All 88 ornery years of her. She's a terrific lady. Always wanted a grandchild too, and never got one. My brother, Nicky--your uncle--" Starsky paused and then sighed. "He's doing time for dealing. After my dad died, he just...went downhill. He was younger than me, and he got in with a bad crowd."

"Too bad," Blair said sincerely. 

"Well, you've got cousins out the wazoo, which could be a good thing or a bad thing." Starsky laughed. "My ma lives with my cousin Sarah and her husband and their girls. So you'll be meeting quite a group if you can make it to go."

"I'll make it work," Blair said, wondering how in hell he'd do that during the wind-up of the fall semester before Christmas break. "Do you think they'd freak out if Jim and I showed up together?"

"Hutch always goes with me. They've cut their teeth on us, so I think they can cope with the two of you."

"I don't think I could have handled what happened with Jim on my own...not to mention some of the, uh, personal stuff. I'm really glad you were here."

"Me too. If you ever need anything, just pick up the phone. Understood?"

"Yeah, you too," Blair responded, smiling.

"If he doesn't treat you right," he began, inclining his head toward Jim, "I want to hear from you."

"No danger of that," Blair responded, still moved to know his father was that solicitous about his welfare. A female voice on the PA system interrupted them.

"Flight 18 for Los Angeles is now boarding at gate 3..."

"I guess that's us," Starsky said, hesitating a minute before pulling his son into a hug with his good arm. Blair returned the pressure. "Be good. Stay behind Jim and keep your head down, hear me?"

"I'll do my best. I'm really gonna miss you."

"Ditto, junior." Starsky took a deep breath and pulled away. Resting a hand on the side of Blair's face, he smiled. "You were one hell of a nice surprise, Blair."

"You too," Blair responded, finding his throat closed up more than he expected.

"We better get going, babe," Hutch said softly, coming up behind Starsky and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Blair--it was great meeting you. We'll hammer out the details on Thanksgiving real soon."

"I hope we get more of a chance to get to know each other over the holiday."

"I'm sure we will."

"Hey, it's been an experience," Jim spoke up, smiling a little.

"It has," Starsky replied, reaching out to shake left hands with Jim, since his right arm was still in the sling. "Be good to him," Starsky said quietly, with a penetrating gaze that seemed to bore into Jim's soul. Ellison had little doubt that one squeak out of Blair would see his father on the first available flight to Cascade, and if he was pissed enough, he wouldn't even need to wait for the plane.

"I will. He deserves the best," Jim responded, draping an arm around Blair's shoulders. Blair mirrored the gesture with an arm around Jim's waist.

"I got that."

"We'll call you about Thanksgiving," Starsky said as they started moving away.

"Have a good trip home," Blair called after them. With a couple waves and one or two backward glances from Starsky, they disappeared into the hustle of passengers.

"Goodbyes suck, don't they, sweetheart?" Jim squeezed Blair's shoulders, noticing how sad his lover looked.

"Yeah...there's just so much to catch up on, you know? He wants me to meet my grandmother over Hanukkah. I didn't even know I _had_ one!"

"We'll have a chance for a good visit over Thanksgiving," Jim said, steering his partner toward the exit.

"Would you come out to New York with me in December if I can get a few days off to go?"

"I'd probably go with you most anywhere, Chief." Jim kept a tight hold on Blair's shoulders and managed to drop a fast kiss on his temple without missing a beat as they headed out for the parking lot.

* * *

Starsky sighed contentedly as he listened to the sounds of the water from his resting place on the deck. Eyes closed, dressed in his rattiest old shorts and a tank shirt, he had napped off and on in the chaise lounge since late afternoon. The sun was setting now, and he noticed he was starting to feel a slight chill in the air. Before he could stir to go find warmer clothes, he felt something warm being lowered onto his prone form. Forcing one eye open against its will, he spied his partner, solicitously arranging the blanket around him. Happy that Hutch hadn't spotted the open eye, he waited for just the right moment and goosed his oblivious partner. The other man lurched with a start away from the lounger and glared down at his devilish lover.

"Sorry, babe. You know what those white shorts do to me." He waggled his brows, delighted to see a flush creep into Hutch's fair skin. "Sling comes off tomorrow."

"Yeah, but you're still going to have to watch out for your incision."

"I don't have stitches in any of the important parts," Starsky countered, yanking his partner down into the large, padded wood deck lounger.

"What if I'd landed on your incision?"

"You didn't, did ya?" Starsky retorted, not fazed in the least. "Get comfy." He held up the blanket until they had shifted around to accommodate each other comfortably. 

"How much longer are we going to do this, Starsk? How many more times do we have to wait vigils at hospitals and...worry about the risks of seeing one of us killed in the line of duty?" Hutch let his head rest on Starsky's shoulder. "We've got so much living yet to do, babe. I don't want to lose it. Not now."

"We're not usually in the middle of as much heavy action as we were in Cascade."

"We're on a task force tracking serial killers, Starsk. That's not exactly low-risk work."

"Make a deal with ya."

"Oh, God. Do I want to hear this?"

"We stay on the task force for another five years, and then we retire with no complaints."

"Try offering a deal you can keep, Gordo," Hutch retorted, feeling a little of the tension drain out of his body as he rested against his lover.

"Okay. So I'll still complain." Starsky let out a long breath. "If you really aren't happy working anymore--"

"I'm fine with working. It's the life and death risk I don't like anymore."

"Our biggest risks most of the time are paper cuts, blondie." Starsky stroked the silky blond hair on his shoulder. "When I'm ready to go back to work, we'll take a long hard look at where the risks are, and see if we can compromise on some changes, huh?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"And, of course, you'll fare much better in the negotiations if you're providing the other side with numerous sexual favors."

"Pervert."

"Would you mind if I invited Naomi to join us for Thanksgiving?"

"No. Blair would probably get a real bang out of that--both parents in one place."

"That's what I was thinking. I mean, I don't expect to go back and re-create all the stuff he didn't have as a kid, but I think it would be nice to do it at least once."

"No problem," Hutch said through a yawn.

"You were pretty stressed out the last few weeks, huh?" Starsky rubbed his partner's back in long, slow strokes.

"I don't think I relaxed until now. Came way to close to losing you, babe."

"I'm too ornery to die. You told me that yourself after Gunther." Starsky sought his partner's lips and they shared a prolonged kiss. 

* * *

"You look great," Blair said, grinning as he shrugged into his topcoat. Jim was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and tie, topped off with his long black topcoat.

"I had to put on something good so I'd look okay next to you," Jim responded, taking a hold of both Blair's hands and smiling softly down at him.

"Oh, man, you have all the lines down, don't you?" Blair replied, chuckling a little. His own dark blue suit and black shirt were covered with a gray topcoat they had found at the mall the previous day, having concluded that Blair didn't have what he needed for their date that night. At Jim's request, Blair's hair was free of the pony tail he'd planned to put it in for the evening.

"With somebody else, it would be lines. With you, I mean it." Jim leaned forward and their lips met in a brief kiss. 

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too, Chief. But if we don't get a move on, our reservations are history."

Seated at an ornately set table at the Skyline Room, the two men toasted champagne and watched the lights of the city twinkling below from their vantage point many storeys above it.

"You must've sold a kidney to get a window table on short notice," Blair commented, taking in the view.

"The owner is a friend of my dad's. I called in and when I mentioned 'Ellison', suddenly I could get any table I wanted. I didn't mention that the first name wasn't William," Jim concluded, clearing his throat and smiling a little. 

"Any chance they'll send your dad the bill, too?"

"That'd go over well," Jim responded, laughing a bit as he scanned the menu. "Lobster?"

"Yes, Oyster?" Blair replied sweetly.

"For dinner, smart ass." 

"Sounds great. They have a filet mignon and lobster dinner."

"Sounds even better." Jim motioned to the waiter, who took their order.

Dinner was a delicious, though obscenely expensive experience. Relaxing and talking about everything under the sun, the two men barely noticed the passage of time before finding themselves running late for the concert. 

Jim was more than a little surprised to be dragged into a pre-concert reception to mingle with the faculty and staff, as well as a few of the University's more prestigious donors. Blair happily introduced Jim as his partner, and left everyone to draw his or her own conclusions what that term meant. Blair obviously had quite a few friends on campus, as Jim found himself bombarded by new names to remember after a lengthy succession of introductions. Happy to find a niche with a member of the criminal justice faculty while Blair was appropriated by a rather ample socialite who was intent on describing to him her recent trip to India, Jim didn't mind the gathering of predominantly academics. The professor he was visiting with had started out as cop and gotten his Ph.D. much later in life. The two men had to be interrupted from swapping war stories when it was time to move into the auditorium.

The music was quite good, though the confining seating had Jim twisting in place before long. He finally ran his arm along the back of Blair's seat, and was nothing short of stunned when the younger man caught his dangling hand and laced their fingers, bringing Jim's arm very obviously around Blair instead of innocently on the seat.

"We should have sat in the back row so we could make out," Blair whispered.

"This is okay with you?" Jim flexed his fingers a little.

"More than okay," Blair whispered back. "How about you?"

"Perfect." Jim paused, then leaned in to whisper again, "Do they sell CDs of their music?"

"After the show. You like it that much?"

"It's fine, but mostly I thought it would make a good souvenir of our first official 'date'."

"I always thought there was a romantic hiding under that cool exterior," Blair said, squeezing Jim's hand.

"He was just waiting around for you to show up." Jim smiled as Blair pulled their joined hands over so he could kiss the back of Jim's. "Somebody might see us, sweetheart," he admonished gently.

"Good. Then they won't be as shocked when I aim for your mouth next time."

Blair was on his good behavior throughout the rest of the concert, though he never did release Jim's hand. They stopped to by their souvenir CD in the lobby and then made their way across the parking lot to the truck. The November night was cold but clear, with a myriad of stars twinkling above, and a large moon casting a blue-white light over their surroundings.

"Tonight was really perfect," Blair said, smiling as he fastened his seat belt.

"Was? You ready to go home already?" Jim prodded.

"Well...not exactly. I thought that's where we were going."

"Eventually. I still have the matter of that surprise we had to postpone."

"I don't suppose asking for a hint would help any?" Blair asked. Jim just grinned wickedly.

"Not at all." Starting up the truck, Jim headed out of the parking lot and toward his destination.

"You know, Jim, I'll come across without you driving out in the country and faking an empty gas tank," Blair joked as they drove away from Cascade down a rural road.

"Patience, Chief. We're almost there."

"Almost _where_? Jim, we're in the middle of _nowhere_!"

"See, there's the road right there," Jim said, as if the sight of the dirt road that led into a field and then back into the trees should answer all of Blair's questions.

"Why are you taking me into the woods in the middle of the night?" Blair asked, not sure what Jim had in mind, and more and more certain he didn't like the way it was headed. Their last excursion through the woods at night had been less than enjoyable, and he'd been dressed for it then.

"Will you relax, Chief? You're gonna love this."

"Do you have some kind of kinky tree fetish you haven't mentioned?" Blair looked around at the enclosing foliage with unease.

"My only fetish is sitting in this truck with me. I promise I won't suspend you upside down from a tree and do bad things to you. Okay?"

"Actually, I'm a little disappointed," Blair quipped back. 

Jim drove through the trees until they emerged into a clearing, and a dazzling view of the water and the city lights, topped off by the infinite sky full of stars and the bright moon.

"Wow," Blair commented, taking in the scenery.

"Told you you'd like it. Come on." Jim turned off the truck's engine and opened his door to get out. Once Blair was out of the truck, Jim pulled the small CD player he'd smuggled along with them out from under the seat and plugged it in to the truck's cigarette lighter after turning the key far enough to give it battery power. He hit the button, and the soft, romantic sounds of instrumental piano music wafted into the night air as he turned the volume high enough for it to carry to where Blair was standing several feet away, taking in the view.

"Music?" Blair asked, smiling, eyes widened a bit with surprise.

"Can't dance without the music." Jim moved toward his lover and took both his hands.

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance. Do you mind?" Jim asked sincerely, seeming a bit nervous now, as if he'd selected a completely inappropriate activity with which to surprise Blair.

"Mind? Jim...the music...the-the view...tonight...it's all perfect. It's like some kind of fantasy."

"I think we've lived through enough reality to have earned a little fantasy, don't you?" Jim raised both of Blair's hands to his mouth and kissed the back of each one. "I never wanted to do something like this for anyone else, Blair. Just you. Only you."

"Nobody's ever done anything like this for me before. I mean, I've been on dates where we've done the old 'let's go look at the stars' routine, but no one's ever given me all of Cascade, the water, the moon and the stars. Nobody's ever treated me the way you do, Jim. Sometimes I'm just...stunned by it."

"Guess you're going to be spending a lot of years stunned then, sweetheart. I know it's not realistic to promise a flawless, smooth future, but I want you to be clear that you're the most important thing in the world to me, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

"I feel the same way," Blair said, his voice a little strained. "I love you so much. When you were missing...I didn't want to live without you."

"Same here, Chief." Jim smiled, then leaned forward to kiss his lover thoroughly. Blair's arms wrapped around his neck and his around Blair's waist. He hoisted the shorter man off the ground until their heads were level with one another. Drawing back breathless, Jim smiled at the loose curls that the breeze was sending into Blair's eyes. Releasing his lover, he reached into his coat pocket and brought out a hair band. "I thought that might get to you after a while." He kissed the tip of Blair's nose and then gathered the soft hair with both hands into a loose pony tail and bound it at the back of Blair's neck.

"You thought of everything," Blair said, further surprised by Jim's thoughtfulness on this one small point.

"I thought of you. Same thing in my book," Jim responded, kissing Blair's forehead and pulling him into a close embrace. 

The two men clung to each other in their own little paradise, letting their bodies sway slightly to the music under the watchful eyes of a million stars.

"You have any blankets in the truck?" Blair asked from the spot where he was nestled against Jim's chest. 

"Are you cold, sweetheart?" Jim responded, pulling back. Blair gave him a grin and a roll of the eyes. "Oh! Uh, sure, yeah. I've got the emergency kit in the back." Jim kept a hold on Blair's hand as they made their way back to the truck. To his surprise, Blair climbed in the back and started helping him dig through the box of supplies. 

"I'm betting this is a better surface than the ground," Blair reasoned, flexing his eyebrows as he started spreading a blanket over the cool metal of the truck bed. As soon as it was in place, Jim climbed in next to his lover and gathered Blair into his arms. "Ever made love in the back of a pickup before?" 

"Never," Jim answered honestly, kissing Blair's mouth and nipping at his full lower lip. "You?"

"Nope. Always thought it would kind of cool though. Especially out under the stars... with somebody I loved." 

"I guess we're going to share a lot of 'firsts' together, huh?" Jim said softly, nimble fingers unbottoning Blair's coat and sliding his hand up to loosen his lover's tie.

The two men struggled a bit awkwardly to dispense with the layers of dress clothes, laughing a few times when a limb would get caught in what seemed like an impossible position, bound in a pesky sleeve or pantleg. Finally naked, tucked under a second blanket with their coats spread on top for warmth, they wound around each other on their sides and relaxed into sharing long, lazy kisses, hands roaming over one another. 

"So what do you think?" Jim asked in whisper, kissing Blair again before he could answer.

"About what?"

"Making love in the back of a pickup," Jim clarified, running his hands down to grip the firm mounds of Blair's ass, pulling their groins tight against each other.

"Oh, man," Blair sighed, arching into the stimulation. "Amazing."

"Phenomenal," Jim agreed, kneading the pliant flesh under his fingers as he claimed Blair's mouth again, not freeing him until Blair pulled away to breathe. Mirroring Jim's position, Blair's hands strayed down to his lover's firm buttocks, his hips rocking, bringing the two engorged shafts into a frantic dance. The friction built until both men were grunting and groaning out their pleasure. Blair broke away and pulled back, stopping the rhythm.

"Jim...make love to me?" he asked breathlessly.

"That's what I'm doing, baby."

"All the way."

"I don't have anything for lube, sweetheart." Jim moved his hands up to Blair's back, holding him close. 

"I do."

"You brought lube with you?" Jim asked, his eyes widening.

"Well, kind of. It's under the seat in the truck."

"The truck?"

"Yeah." Blair swallowed, feeling the scrutiny of Jim's gaze. "I kind of had this fantasy about us...you know...on a stakeout or something..."

"That can't happen on a stakeout, sweetheart. You know that."

"I know...but if we ever did decide to run out of gas on purpose, I figured we'd need something."

"So it's under the passenger seat," Jim clarified. Blair nodded. "I suppose you want me to get it?"

"I hate the cold," Blair retorted.

"One of these days, I'm going to figure out a way to say no to you and make it stick." Jim left the warm haven of the pickup bed and scurried to the truck, feeling as ridiculous as he looked as he crawled partway into the truck, stark naked, and rummaged around for the lube. With the tube firmly in hand, he rushed back to the warmth of the makeshift bed he'd been sharing with Blair. "How do you want me?" Blair asked, not sure what position would work best in their unusual surroundings.

"Try on your side, Chief." Jim settled back under the covers and spooned himself up to Blair, holding him close, trailing wet kisses down his neck and over his shoulder. "Love the way you taste..." He went back to action instead of words, and Blair moaned, wriggling his ass against Jim's groin, tormenting the rigid cock that was sliding between Blair's cheeks. "Relax a minute, baby. Gotta warm the stuff up a little." Jim still had the tube gripped in one hand, trying to take the chill off its contents.

"Please? Want you now," Blair moaned.

Jim flipped the cap off the tube and moved back to squeeze some out on his fingers. Satisfied it was warm enough for Blair, he began slowly stretching and coating the tight passage. Blair groaned and moved with Jim's finger, showing no signs of the anxiety and tension he'd wrestled with their first time together. 

After thoroughly preparing his lover, Jim coated himself and pressed against Blair's center.

"Relax, angel. Just let it happen," he murmured, stroking Blair's hip as he spoke. "Slow and easy," he assured softly, kissing Blair's shoulder as he pushed past the initial resistance. "Love you so much." Jim pulled Blair closer again, molding their bodies together as he slid in a bit further, waiting for Blair's muscles to relax at each progressive stage. Finally sheathed, he lay there against Blair's back, panting and stroking his lover's stomach as Blair's breathing calmed slightly. "Just relax, sweetheart. Let yourself adjust, it's okay," Jim whispered against a curl-covered ear. He closed his eyes, searching for the part of himself that could keep control and not start wildly thrusting. He reached around and gently grasped Blair's slightly faltering erection and began pumping it firmly. 

"Oh, Jim..." Blair started to move, impaling himself on Jim's cock in one direction and thrusting into the pumping hand in the other. The hot, living bulk inside of him was both pain and pleasure, the lines blurring impossibly until it all seemed part of pleasure.

Feeling the incredible sweet pressure massaging his engorged shaft, Jim started to move with his partner, letting Blair set the pace but following it with firm thrusts that eventually grazed Blair's prostate, making him cry out and stiffen. His internal muscles contracted wildly around Jim, dragging little grunts of pleasure from him as Blair cried out his name and bathed Jim's hand in his seed.

Jim's movements picked up, and with a few rapid thrusts, he froze and shot his completion deep into his lover's body, fastening his mouth to Blair's succulent neck at the same time, marking him, sliding his hands up to rub over sweat-sheened skin, wrapping both arms tightly around him. Still joined, Jim kissed, nipped and licked at Blair's neck and shoulder, nuzzling the warm, soft curls that had slipped out of the loose pony tail.

"Love you, angel," Jim murmured against the warm, moist neck. 

"Love you too...more than I can say," Blair whispered back, savoring the feeling of being filled by Jim and joined to him. Blanketed in that large body, encircled by those long limbs, Blair felt warmer, more secure, and more loved than he ever had before. "Look at the stars," Blair murmured, turning his head so he could look up at the sky. Jim kissed his cheek.

"I am," Jim responded, keeping his gaze firmly on Blair, who shifted enough to see his lover's face. "The brightest star in my sky," he whispered, kissing Blair's cheek again. "Center of my life. My soulmate."

"I thought I was the one who was good with words here," Blair responded, grinning. "Maybe I just can't find any that say enough. I'm going to keep looking, though. Maybe somebody's found a way to say it in some language."

"I doubt it." Jim smiled, pulling Blair impossibly closer and resting his head against Blair's curls.

"You're probably right. Finding those words is going to be right up there with counting those stars, one by one--impossible, because they're infinite...like us."

"Right," Jim sighed, smiling, closing his eyes and holding his mate securely in his arms.

End


End file.
